


Floating into our Wishing Well

by theoraclespecialist



Series: Wishing Well [1]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst, Boyfriends, Brotherood, Coming Out, Couple, Cute, Emotional Growth, Fear, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Original Character(s), Slow Burn, Sports, Team Bonding, Unresolved Romantic Tension, family love, relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-07-15 21:52:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 28,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7239901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoraclespecialist/pseuds/theoraclespecialist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Eric does something at the end of their Euros' campaign, it triggers a series of changes to his and Dele's relationship as they navigate what it takes to fall in love with a teammate in this day and age of football.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dele gaped at the dwindling town. The plane was still whirring in a slanting position, the safety belt sign turned on. The sound of the boys chatting filled his ears. Obviously they were not as bothered or concerned as him. Perhaps they were, but they were definitely better at occupying themselves instead.

“You scared of flying, Dell Boy?” 

Dele scoffed. “Of course. All these private jets could upset anyone,”

Eric smirked. “Slow down, here. I’m not sure you know what private jets actually mean,” 

Dele rolled his eyes and slouched sideways to glimpse at the fading town as they billowed above the clouds. And just like that, the bird-eyes’ view said goodbye. 

“Emotional, isn’t it?” Eric mocked. 

Dele elbowed him. “Wanker,” he chortled. “Aren’t you?”

“Emotional?” he asked. “Nah,”

“Not even a little bit?”

Eric shrugged. “Excited, for sure. A year ago I thought I’d get chucked over to Villa or some other loan dump. Burn through my wages on booze and girls. Now I’m on a plane to the Euros. It’s…different, to say the least,” 

“Booze and girls, you say? Haven’t seen with you either,”

“What can I say…I’ve been good this year,”

“Whatever you say, mate,”

Dele could just have easily thrown in another joke there but his attempts at jesting could not compensate for the tides snaking through his chest. These tides were of a different variety, only rushing forth when he talked to Eric. He watched his mouth as the words clicked out of him, his voice never going above a certain decibel, his tone stable, his language curt; Dele was always taken by Eric talked. 

“You sure you’re not excited because you want to score an own goal again?”

Eric had grabbed Dele by the neck and was ready to wrestle before a voice shook them off their frisking. 

“Boys, want to join us for a classic game of poker here?” Kyle offered as Danny, Gary and Ross had taken their place, cards in their hand ready to flip. “We don’t bite,”

Dele leaned in and said, “Go ahead. I can cry a bit more at the window,” 

“You seriously don’t know my birthday?”

“11th April, 1996,” he said. “I had to light it up for the cameras,” 

“Did someone whisper that in, huh?” 

Eric didn’t bother convincing him; he knew that Dele would mock him for it one way or another so why deflate his bubble? He did not understand how Dele could possibly think for a second that Eric wouldn’t know his birthday. He was the first one to wish him, he made sure of that. He’d call at 11:55, talk random for five minutes, keep his phone busy and then wish him at soon as the clock struck twelve. Dele had been impressed at his tactic and they’d continued talking for another hour, as Dele said that he didn’t want his phone blowing up. 

“I also knew that you passed your driving test with flying colours. I’ve heard you brag ‘nuff,” Eric added, as if he had to drill it to his friend that he really knew him, way more than what the interview was going to be presented as. 

“Alright, alright,”

Dele put his arm around Eric’s shoulder and gripped him close. “We don’t want to hurt your ego here,” he said as he pulled Eric’s head closer to his armpit. 

“A bit too early for PDA, don’t cha think?” Ross mumbled as he sped up to him. He patted them on their asses and jogged with them towards the training ground. 

“We just came out of that shitty Roommates interview,” Eric said. 

“Never understood that,” said Stones, who joined them next to Eric. “We all get private rooms. They still think we using bunkbeds?” 

“Pose’ to be a friendship test,” Dele mentioned. “Questions like when you was born, your debut, crap like that,” 

Ross grimaced at Stones. “We’re getting put through that, aren’t we?”

“Count on it,” Eric said. “Start to mug up music tastes and first kisses,” 

“Rebecca Waters, when I was twelve. She made me work for it,” Jones said, sticking out his tongue and wiggling it. 

Eric winced. “Fuck, that’s…horrible,”

Training was slow, as most of the guys were acclimating to the new change in place and circumstance. They were not simply preparing for the friendlies; they had to train strategically. It was their performance in the training ground that would determine their readiness for starting in their opening match against Russia. 

They played an intense practice game and afterwards, most of the players dropped to the grass to stretch and bask under the sun, the humid air dripping across their skin as sweat. Eric positioned himself to watch Dele run around a few cones. He skipped across the field, looking as focused as ever, his pace steady, if not accelerating. Eric watched him closely, his lanky, tanned body and legs as thin as popsicles.

“You’re worried about him,” Chris’s high-pitched voice proved to be too jarring for this reverie. 

“I’m not the only one,” Eric answered. 

“He’ll be fine,”

“Breakout player of the breakout team. The next Stevie G, Beckham. The shining young star. First national tournament,”

“You know I can describe you in those exact same words,”

“It’s different for him,” Eric insisted. “You know how he gets riled up. And if he gets into trouble, we’re doomed, you know that,”

“Not necessarily. We got Jack,”

“Oh sure,” Eric said. “But we have to make sure he gets out of bed okay,” 

Chris laughed. “He’s a hard worker your Dele. Just have some faith and focus on yourself,”

Chris was not able to assuage his concerns immediately but as Dele did his keep-uppys in near perfect sequence, Eric was able to reclaim a bit of that faith for Dele. It helped that Dele chose that moment to tumbled into Eric and push his back towards the grass. “Stop ogling at me, your pervert,” 

Thirty minutes before their first game. Hip-hop music blasting out of the speakers in the dressing room, courtesy of Studge. The players sprucing themselves up for the big showdown. Eric kept tightening his shoelaces, even if they were in no danger of getting untangled. It was his way of staying superstitious, he reasoned. Dele appeared cool as an inside of a watermelon, stretching his knees. 

“COME ON BOYS, COME ON, GEAR UP,” Joe shouted as he exited the dressing room. Soon, all the boys began to jog out of the room, hurling cheers and shouts as they went out. 

“SHOW’EM WHAT YOU GOT,” Studge howled as he galloped out. 

Soon, the only one that remained was Eric, chewing his lip, his entire life’s worth of memories flushing his mind up to this moment. Worry flashed through his chest like lightning bolts, each strike prepared to make itself known. His brain could not help but run through all the possibilities that could occur, mostly bad, hardly good. He began questioning his abilities, fearing the outcomes, wishing that he hadn’t been here this very moment because the tension was too much. 

What if he wasn’t good enough? What if he wasn’t good enough as a defensive midfielder? They have moved him so because they believed he brought something to the position that other didn’t. But what if it was bound to be a failure? What if those Russian players outplayed him and he’d not be allowed to start or play in this tournament again? What if he scored an own goal?

Suddenly Dele came pacing through the door. “Mate, it’s time to go,”  
“Now?”

Dele looked unimpressed. “Not at all. Wait another couple of hours, get a hair dye, clip your nails…time’s your friend,” 

Eric placed his middle finger on his chin. Dele sighed and took a seat next to him. “Prolonging ain’t gonna do shit. Keep your mind on the ball, do what you did this whole year for Spurs and we got nothing to worry about,”

“It ain’t that easy,”

“Eric,” Dele’s voice softened, so did his glare. He placed his hand on Eric’s knee and leaned closer. “I believe in you and that might not mean much, but you should know that you can do great things. You’re not any lesser than anyone in this team, you earned your spot and you’re essential,”

Eric turned his head to face Dele. Their eyes locked and Eric was overcome with a tiding of his own that swept across his chest. He placed his arm around Dele. “Thanks, mate. You’re essential as well,” 

Dele returned the gesture by putting his arm on Eric’s waist. “Now it’s our year, Eric. We go out there and we crush it. We bring this baby home. You and I. We bring this baby right home,”

Eric broke out in the widest smile he could manage. “We’ll need Harry,”

Dele laughed, his big-toothed smile making Eric’s toes curl up. “And a bit of that Vardy diving powder,” Dele added. 

“A lot of that,”

“Right-o,” 

Eric knew that he was going to be okay. As he walked out of the dressing room holding onto Dele, he knew that despite everything he was going to be okay and Dele was going to be okay and England was going to be okay. Letting him go was disheartening but as Eric lined up in the tunnel, he knew that he had tied his shoelaces well and that they would protect him. 

After that frustrating draw, nobody was really in the mood for socializing. If they’d won, they had planned to go out and explore of that Chantilly nightlife but now the team had accepted their weariness and most of them just lumbered back to their rooms, the common room abandoned for the night. 

Eric aimed to drown out the awful draw by consuming some senseless episodes of South Park. Maria, his girlfriend, had reached out for a Skype call but he declined, knowing that his demeanor would sour their entire conversation. He was halfway through the episode when he thought he heard a slight knock on his door. Knowing exactly who it could be, he leaped out of his bed and welcomed Dele into his room with a sigh. 

“If you want a massage, go wake up Jordan or Harry,” Eric said, limping back to his bed. 

“They’ve got kids, or girlfriends,” Dele replied. 

“So do I,” 

“Um, ok,”

Dele nestled in next to Eric as Eric realized that there was no way he was finishing up his episode tonight. He put his laptop away, put his feed up, leaned back and as if under a spell, directed all his attention towards Dele. It had become a routine, or worse, a compulsion. 

“You didn’t have a good game, Harry taking corners, Russians being dicks, big Woy…”

“Nah, I came to congratulate you,” Dele admitted right away. 

Eric, taken aback by Dele’s honesty, gulped. “Oh,”

“You seem really delighted,” he deadpanned. 

“No, it’s just…” Eric mumbled. “Who cares, we didn’t win,” 

“Yeah, but we found ourselves a kick-ass setpiece taker,” 

There was something about his tone that was so rosy and optimistic that Eric did not bother with coming up with a mocking response. Banter failed him and that was always an odd phenomenon in their friendship. Without their banter, their relationship was…not like that of any other teammates or friends. Dele’s round, dark eyes gazed into Eric’s dark blue ones, forging a connection that sent shivers up his spine. His upper cheek bones shone under the light, as Eric admired them in silence. 

Dele crawled closer to Eric, their shoulders touching. He looked away thankfully, as his stare was becoming too overpowering for Eric. He took Eric’s thumb and began feeling it with his index finger. 

“I’m proud of you,” Dele whispered, making sure not to make eye contact. “I’m really proud of you,”

As soon as those words whistled through his mouth, Eric was pricked with a hunch that maybe, after all, despite everything, everything was not going to be okay this month.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So obviously I had to change direction of the story after their disappointing loss to Iceland but i think I can still delve into their relationship that gives it justice and brings more opportunities. I hope you enjoy!

“The rumour mill’s been spinning, you know. Barca, Bayern…” Maria beamed.

“Is that so?”

“Of course, my love,” 

He was glad that he could speak to his girlfriend in the common room, in the vicinity of others without having them trying to eavesdrop. Knowing Portuguese had its other advantages but this one proved to be useful around his England teammates. Dele, though appeared to be playing pool with Ryan and Danny, kept glancing at Eric and flashed toothy grins every time he caught him looking. 

“Aren’t you going to invite me for a game?” she asked teasingly. “I can’t sit still when my man is running the field,”

“Do you want to?”

“What do you think?”

Dele stuck his tongue out at Eric. Eric chuckled to himself and made that his response to Maria. Despite whatever had been bubbling inside him for Dele, he knew that he had landed himself the best girlfriend he could hope for in Maria. Not knowing English immediately made her stand out, imparting simplicity to her personality, homeliness to her language. Besides, she was unsuitable for and disinterested in the customary English WAG experience. She would prefer drawing on a canvass than buying six pairs of shoes in a single day. Even her appearance signified an effortlessness that had become extinct among the ladies: she would let her long brown hair grow out and hang beyond her shoulders, she would decline the touch of makeup even in fancy occasions and best of all, she refused to follow him to England. Her place was in Portugal and she was proud of it.  
But when Eric saw Dele rub the cue stick against his thumb before crouching for a shot, he forgot all about Maria. 

They chatted for a few more minutes. Their game against Iceland was coming up and even though Maria was optimistic for their victory, Eric expressed his doubts. “They’re just going to park a bus for all of two hours,”

“We all know how well you all do penalties,” mocked Maria, nodding her head. 

“Penalties, you say?” 

Eric looked up and saw Dele rush besides him. “Your boy’s been practicing a lot of’em,” Dele said into the phone. 

Eric rolled his eyes and translated for Dele. 

“By the way,” said Dele. “Ola, Dani. Como você está?”

“How many weeks did it take for you to learn that?” hissed Eric, putting his arm on the sofa behind Dele. 

Maria laughed. “Ola, Dele,” 

Their stilted, translated interaction lasted for a few more hard-pressed minutes. Maria bid her goodbye and left for her classes. The rest of the day consisted of local sight-seeing as the team explored the various points of interest in the Chantilly, from the museums to the exquisite gardens. Right by one of the gardens, they stopped for lunch. Dele, Eric, Ross and Stonesy clustered together in one table and ordered their plates of food. 

“Three games without a single win. If it was some other worthy tournament…” Stonesy was babbling about Portugal qualifying for the round of 16 and what an abomination he felt it was to the sport. 

“We can’t have Ronaldo going home so early, man,” Ross said. “We want to see a few more hissy fits,”

“Oi, you know he can’t wait to take off to Ibiza,” Dele said, biting into the orange chicken on his plate. 

“C’mon lads, lets be civil. It’s Portugal, after all,” said Eric. 

“That’s the only reason we haven’t gotten down to talking real shit about them,” Ross claimed heartily. “Besides if we come up against them soon, which we will, we’ll need you mate,”

Eric shrugged and chewed his food in silence. After their wholesome lunch, Eric chose to stroll through the long, winding paths in the garden by himself. He relished the sights of the manicured flower beds and the bronze statues scattered across the space. The cobbled floor completed the royal, European look the garden could flaunt as its own. 

Dele jogged up the pathway behind him soon and shoved him lightly as he stopped. “Been looking for you all over, mate,”

“What’s wrong?”

“I got you this,” Dele revealed a rose from his pockets and presented it to Eric. Its red glossy hue popped in the darkness and its voluptuous petals bloomed and spread out over his hand but Eric could only focus on Dele’s wishful face as he held it; there had never been a more perfect sight. 

“You’re gonna get in shit for this, ya know?” Eric said. “Promising footballer in a flower-picking scandal,” Eric took the flower and stroke against his nose, letting its sweet fragrance waft into his nose. 

“I’d risk it for you,” he said, smiling coyly. “Now, Eric Dier, would you do me the pleasure of taking a walk with me?”

Eric stepped back, turned to his side and waved forward his hand. “After you,” 

It was just a stroll, they babbled, they bantered, they compared their muscles and every now and then, they would elbow and wrestle with each other. But as the sun scraped off the sky and the lushness of the twilight infused into the night, among the seams of flowers and the flittering lights circling the fountains, this evening with Dele was turning out to be the most wonderful experience. Against the dashing light of the moon, his smile radiated wide through and Eric felt, once again, the uncontrollable madness swelling inside him. 

It was more than a stroll. 

The England national football team was awoken the next day with the breaking news of Messi retiring from international football. They all gaped at the television in silence with a few uttering, ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ Additionally, they had a game tonight so they could not get too distracted. But for Dele, the significance of each tournament was all the more emphasized in Messi’s despair on the pitch. 

Football was made into their life, their worlds in which they had to fight to survive, cosmic way of life they had to abide to. Dele saw it as a sport that he loved to play; his occupation out of which certain elements had to be tolerated but he did not perceive it as his life. He saw it a wonderful opportunity through which he was able to meet his heroes, make lifelong friends and do what he loved at a platform upon which the world would see him. 

Seeing Messi crumble invoked something in him for sure, because the pressure of success overshadowed them all. Bloggers and analysts were deeming his own performance to be somewhat of a disappointment in the group stages and if he somehow messed up in the knockout stages, this tournament would be the first and the last for him. 

Once again Dele chose to sit himself by the window on their way towards the stadium. Eric was chatting away with some of the boys in the background, apparently having overcome his pre-game jitters. Harry, who was next to Dele, was never much of a talker, especially not before matches but today he was unusually partaking in conversation with Dele. 

“I’m not nervous, no,” Harry said calmly. “I’m anxious. I just want to get out and play. Sitting still and having no control…that’s not for me, Dele,”

“But isn’t there more anxiety on the pitch?” he asked naively. 

Harry shrugged. “Depends on the person, I guess,” 

Dele, not particularly comforted by Harry, pursed his lips and looked down at his feet. “Harry?” he muttered. “Do you think we’ll get through today?” 

“Of course, mate,” he said in a booming tone. “I might not start but we’ve got you and Studgy and of course, we better milk Dier for what’s he’s worth before he…”

Dele froze. “What?” 

“Didn’t you hear? He’s got an offer or something from Bayern,”

“An offer?” he croaked.

Dele spoke not a word to his teammates for the duration of the ride. Even as they got to the dressing room in the stadium, he refused to make eye contact with anyone trying to wave to him, call him over for something or the other or trying to pull him into a conversation. He stomped across the hallways, his headphones submerging his head further down into an isolated cloud of frustration and repression. 

At the dressing room, the boys were pulling tight their shorts and jazzing up their hair in swamps of product. Dele toddled up to his locker and opened it. Eric peeked from behind his locker, who was, conveniently, right next to Dele’s. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked, bewildered by Dele’s demeanour. 

Dele tightened his lips and took out his jersey from the locker. 

“Dele…” Eric demanded. 

Dele slammed the locker door in his face and shuffled away. Eric followed him and pulled his shoulder back so he would face him. “Tell me what’s wrong? Are you upset about the match or is it…”

“Why the fuck do you care? You’re prancing off to Bayern, aren’t you?” he uttered, just loud enough to convey his anger but not enough to alarm their teammates, who were lingering by the benches. He thought he saw Vardy look up but he ignored it for his sake. This was between Eric and him. 

Eric was taken aback. His eyes widened, his lips flattened and he gulped. “Who told you that?”

“Is it true?”

“Dele,” he said tenderly, putting his hand on his shoulder which Dele shook off instantly. “It’s not a done deal. I was going to tell you…Andrew is just talking with their bosses and…”

Dele clenched his mouth. “You fucking arsehole,” he hissed. 

Eric twisted his mouth in frustration. He seemed to be too resigned to use words to console his best friend. 

“You’re such a fucking arsehole,” he uttered again. “You’re going to leave the club that made you relevant. That got you to Champions League? That got you to this very team today. For what? Staying on the bench? Rubbing shoulders with Muller? You really have no expectations from Spurs, do you? You pussy,”

“Don’t fucking pretend I’m the first footballer doing this,” Eric snapped. “Didn’t Ronaldo leave Man Utd? Didn’t Suarez leave Liverpool? You can’t blame me for doing jack-all,”  
“You’re going to leave me,” Dele blinked back his tears. “You’re going to leave all of us,” His throat cracked and he was smashed with an onslaught of desolation at thought of being alone, without Eric. “You’re a traitor!” 

“Maybe I’m too tired to carry your fucking ass everywhere. Don’t tell me what I can or cannot do,” he yelled. He leaned in closer and looked down at Dele, glaring him down with fire in his eyes. “And the worst is that you’re too young to understand that if you’re in my eyes, you’d do the same,” 

“ Boys, put a lid on it!” Vardy shouted from the bench. “We haven’t time for your bickering, if you hadn’t noticed, you dimwits. Get your heads in the game and let’s crush some ice,” 

Eric backed off and slogged back to his locker. Dele did the same, holding in his heart the same heaviness that had been slashing against him all day. It seemed like the confrontation had not done anything to resolve his fears; instead it exacerbated the situation. Now he knew for sure that Eric was considering his transfer to Bayern and the possibility had turned into a probability. 

For the first time since they’ve gotten to know one another, they exited the dressing room in silence. They did not make eye contact but Dele caught a few glimpses of him when he could. Even when they were not talking, Dele could not resist taking in Eric’s appearance and attitude, whether he stood in one place, dribbled with a ball or spoke to another teammate. He was not able to reconcile with the idea that he may have to get used to the idea of not seeing Eric every day. 

But nevertheless, he jogged off into the pitch, knowing that they had to get through this game before they made their minds up about anything. 

Dele crashed on the pitch when the final whistle blew. The stadium resounded with screams of joy, Iceland fans having lost themselves in a cloud of delirium. He could distinguish a round of boos among them too and their shrillness pierced his hearing much more than the exuberance overriding the acoustics of the stadium. He trudged off the pitch with his head lowered, his tears masked by the glistening sweat on his face. 

It was pitch silence in the dressing room. There were the necessary sounds of phones ringing, lockers slamming and Jordan throwing down a water bottle but nobody spoke to one another. Eric bumped into him at one point but instead of simmering tension, it was simply indifference. 

Nobody cared, anymore. That was always the problem. Of course the press were going to have a dreadful go at their time and deservedly so; Dele felt the sting of shame spread across his body like poison. There were talks of the boss retiring and Dele shivered at the thought of the new boss, should he arrive, not calling Dele up for the national team again. This tournament was going to be their catapult, instead it was a boomerang. 

They reverted to their rooms like ghosts, desperate to obscure their face from the lights and wallow in the cold darkness of their rooms. Dele attempted to fall asleep but he could not. No amount of twisting and turning could put his mind to peace. An odd sort of restlessness writhed inside him, threatening his wellbeing as he craved for that missing piece.

Eric was Skyping with Maria when he heard a rapping on his door. These knocks were becoming familiar indeed and he immediately big goodbye to her. He was prepared to shout at Dele, rage at him but as soon as he opened the door; he could not help but take him in, lead him into his room and sit him down. 

Dele sat down on the bed, his glossy eyes afraid to meet Eric’s. Eric, not finding in him the will to turn Dele away or even bantering with him, placed his hand on Dele’s cheek. “We did our best, Dellboy,” he consoled, drifting closer to him. 

Dele looked up. “We’re a disgrace. We’re a fucking disgrace,” With that, he erupted into tears. The tears that had been trapped behind his eyes blasted forward, not realizing their extent or their power. Eric broke into sobs as well. He put his arm around Dele and pulled him closer. 

“You’ll never be a disgrace, Dele. We’ll…we’ll,” he cried. “We’ll get there one day,” 

“No, we won’t. We always mess up. We’ll find a way, you and I,” he said in between the wails that followed his tears. 

“No, Deli, no,” Eric insisted. “That’s not the way to go, mate,” He wiped off Dele’s tears with his fingers, not realizing that they were not planning to cease anytime soon but that did not mean he was going to stop comforting his friend. 

“I’m the most overrated player since…” Dele began. 

“No, you’re not. You’re the best player I know, you hear me?” Eric said, as he lifted Dele’s head from his shoulder and stared into his dark, soulful eyes. “Best,” 

On a feeling that could only be described as an impulse, Eric reached down and dipped his lips into Dele’s mouth. It rattled Dele, who blinked a few times so he could absorb the feeling of the kiss. Salty, slobbery and sad, he would still do it all over again. He extended his lips for another kiss, which Eric returned fortunately. It was short and chaste. 

Nothing was spoken about it. Dele knew that the kiss was a one-off thing, as pleasant as it was. 

Eric needed to do something to console the boy and he did. It was perhaps the weirdest consolation attempt and it might not have done the job yet it was alright. Just. But despite what the two thought, they would not stop holding each other for the rest of the night.


	3. Chapter 3

Dele felt smothered. Stifled. His lungs trapped inside, struggling to find the space to let the air out. His chest crumbling against the pounding. Her long nails dug into his skin rhythmically. She was heaving, her face contorting in pleasure. After some seven minutes of needling thrusting, she achieved her release. With one long, winding groan, she hopped off him and slapped down her body on the bed beside him. 

He had come, too but it barely captured his attention. He closed his eyes and thought of Eric. They had not talked since the night of their dreadful loss to Iceland. They had silently agreed to forget about it even though the feeling of the kiss had been etched onto Dele’s senses. The Whatsapp group had been inactive yet Dele would, every now and again, check the time at which Eric was last seen. He has taken off to Portugal, to his home, to the family, to the warm breeze of summer and sunshine. Dele wondered how he was grieving. Was he trying to numb the pain through mindless sex, like himself? Was he strolling along the soft beaches? Was he cooking and laughing with Maria?  
If they’d stayed in the tournament, then they’d be preparing for the final right about now. Instead they were have to put up with getting butchered by the media and getting compared with the Wales team, who had, against all odds, managed to reach the finals against France. He spent what he felt was an hour fantasizing about the possibilities that had been cut short before he was poked back to reality by Ruby.  
“Too intense for you?” she smiled coyly, rubbing her finger on his shoulder. 

“Not enough,” But he was sure that nothing she could do would be able to glamourize the sex. 

“Well, do you have a special request, babe?” she raised both her eyebrows salaciously. “I have a lot of energy in me,” 

“I don’t know if I’ll stop feeling shitty anytime soon,” 

“We can try,” She stretched out her last word as her hand slithered down his bare stomach and around his penis. 

She meant well, there was no doubt about that. Despite her coming off as jaggedly lustful many times, she did want to get to know him. They had met at one of those dim-lit, laid-back clubs suited for footballers, models, actors and young elites who were looking to cool off on a Wednesday night. Dele had gone with his lads, Eric, Ryan, Christian and Kyle to have a good time. Being the only one without a girlfriend, when the girls had come over to flirt and share drinks, it had seemed inevitable that he would get spurred onto their orbit. And fuck, was Ruby adept at making conversation despite the volume of liquor being poured over and over again in her glass. He had taken her home that night and never thought about ending it, not that there was much to end in the first place. 

His decision to keep her in the loop was as much as strategic choice as it was a result of inertia. Having a long-term girlfriend was beneficial for the image; most players were perceived as mature, responsible and capable of leadership and stability if they associated with wife and children. Having gotten a destructive ban at the end of the season, he knew that he had to step it up. He had kept her off all the games in the group but before the Iceland game, he called her and asked her to come see him. She would get in good with the Wags, he’d have someone to jerk him off after the win, it was a no-brainer. 

What else was a no-brainer? Dele, apparently, as he let himself get coaxed into a blowjob. Afterwards, Ruby climbed on top of him and kissed him on the nose. He cringed inside at how meaningless it was. 

“Come with me to Ibiza,” 

“Are you serious?” he asked. 

“What, you want to stay holed up in this rainy town?” She circled her finger around his left nipple, using some good old physical persuasion. 

“Or risk getting caught shirtless and drinking in the Sun in the wake of yet another England disappointment?” 

“Those arseholes are going to rattle you wherever you go. At least in Ibiza you can fade in with the thousands of party-goers,”

“Ruby, I…” He lightly pushed her off and she rolled onto her side. “I don’t know…” 

“What’s there to think about?” she said. “I have plenty of friends there, who can hook us up with a villa, we can see a few bands, get some drinks, dance the night away. You deserve it, dezzy,” 

It’s not so much that she was hard to resist than he couldn’t be bothered to muster up the resistance. If Eric could escape to the ocean, then Dele should certainly have the chance to. As Ruby reached up to kiss him, Dele closed his eyes and conjured the only image he could to get through it. 

There was no one but them. It wasn’t a private beach but the closest humans flickered about miles away. The only sound was that of the waves crashing into the shore. The piercing rays of the sun billowed down into Eric’s pale skin as he reclined back on his lawn chair. Maria jogged down from the waves, her hair drizzling, her toned legs sinking into the sand with each step. 

“Meu amor, why are you being so lazy,” she said, as she crawled onto his lap. “I thought athletes loved being out and running,” 

Eric put his arms around her waist. “I don’t like bringing my work home,” 

She leaned closer to plant a kiss on his lip. “Or you just like staring at my ass?” she wiggled her eyebrows teasingly. 

“That, too,” 

Maria dove into his mouth for a deep, wet kiss as Eric placed his palms around her waist. She moved down to his neck, nipping, pulling. He felt the stiffening in his shorts. Getting hard had never been the problem with Maria; she was beautiful, sexy and had an unapologetic desire for pleasure. But he’d much prefer her company more than her body. Perhaps that had been the reason why he’d been so reluctant to move her to England but yet remembered to talk to her every day. 

On this bright day, they lounged on the beach of Miramar, an isolated location off Porto. Maria’s family, who lived in Porto, had generously allowed Eric and her to stay in their beach house. They wouldn’t do much every day but they had settled into a comfortable routine. Surfing, sunbathing, beach volleyball, hiking up the nearby hill. As for food, Eric would buy the latest catch from the local market and they cooked it in the evening, eating it by the ocean, with smiles on their faces and heaps of wine in their glasses. 

They trotted over to their beach house and completed what they had gotten started with at the beach. Afterwards, Eric flopped down besides her and they took a few moments to gather themselves.  
“Maria,” he said after a few minutes. “Can I trust you?”

“Of course,” she smiled gently. 

“You wouldn’t like it,” 

“I know you, Eric,” 

Eric sighed and looked away. He loathed having to do this after they’d just had sex and were spending their holidays together at a luxurious beach house by the lovely ocean. It was a paradise yet his heart was set on destroying it. 

“I kissed Dele,” 

The words had been curled under his mouth for awhile now. Ever since the night in France, he had been bearing the burden. The burden of having made the decision to kiss him. The burden of denial as both Dele and he waived it off and went their separate ways for the summer. The burden of lying by omission every time he got intimate with Maria. The burden of worry for Dele as he frisked through Ibiza with his new girlfriend. 

Maria, initially, showed no reaction. Her expressed sustained its softness, her eyes ever so graceful. She slowly placed her fingers on his shoulder and looked up at the ceiling. “You picked a great time to tell me this, didn’t you?” 

“You have a right to know,”

She nodded. “You got that right,”

He gauged her face, trying to find a glimmer of emotion. It’s like nothing had changed even though Eric knew that deep inside the mazes in her head were calculations, thoughts, opinions, reactions, considerations of how this situation should be dealt with. It was a significant moment for the two of them; if Eric had found out that Maria had kissed another girl, he would have been bemused as well. They had, after all, known each other for a long time and an occurrence such as this was sure to destabilize their relationship.  
“It had to be him, didn’t he?” 

Eric thought he misheard her. “What?” 

“Harry talks weird. You’d never get with someone who does not speak properly. And Lamela has a weird voice, I must say,” she prattled. “And Christian…I dunno…you both look similar. You wouldn’t like that,” 

Erik chuckled. “Are you serious?”

“What, you don’t think I’ve thought about it?” she said. “Young guys in high-pressured environments, showering together, seeing each other naked…”

“I’ve never seen anyone naked,”

“Well…” she pointed down to her bare breasts. 

“None of the guys,” 

“You get what I mean,” She said, as she placed her head on his shoulder and wrapped her arms around him. “I’ve suspected you with Dele for quite some time. You and him make no secret about it, either, do you?”

“If anyone finds out…our careers are over,”

“It’s not such an intolerant world anymore,”

“Maria,” he laughed in disbelief. “Football fans are on a different plane, you know? If I have so much as a weird eyebrow, they’d rip me to shreds,” 

Within the next hour, he’d told her everything. She listened with interest, in his arms, kissing him, cuddling with him even though every word out of his mouth indicated that he might have feelings for a boy. Eric got the feeling that the love between them had not disappeared over night, in fact, it had had to accommodate another element. By the end, they agreed that they were not going to break up but that they would not have sex, unless both of them agreed to it. 

“A relationship doesn’t just go away,” Eric said in reference to the arrangement they had been mapping out. He still needed her as a friend, he still found her beautiful and if Dele did not exist, he would have already proposed to her this summer. 

"It doesn't, amour," Maria shook her head and rested her head on his bare chest. She relished his scent despite knowing his heart had flown for other pastures but that did not mean she loved him any less. 

"I still need you," Eric told her, stroking down her blonde waves of hair. 

Maria looked up wistfully. "Eric?"

"Yeah?"

"What do you think about me moving to England?"

Eric raised his eyebrows and smiled ecstatically. Earlier in the morning, as he was shopping for fruits in the market for his girlfriend, he did not anticipate that he would be disclosing to her about his feelings for a boy, but Maria proposing to move to England was an even bigger surprise of the day. "I think that'd be wonderful,"

"I'm not going to live with you, don't worry," she assured him. 

"I won't mind, if you do,"

"You need someone, Eric. I don't think I can be the right someone but I can be someone,"

As he drowned in her eyes and in the comfort of her arms, he realized that he was more fortunate to have her than he gave himself credit for. To everyone's eyes, she was a sweet, soft-spoken girlfriend; to him, she was his solid best friend. He wondered if Ruby comforted Dele just as well and then he thought back to the photos he saw of Dele and Ruby lounging in Ibiza and figured that Dele did not need that comfort.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place five months after Chapter 3. Tottenham just best West Ham in a last minute thriller but the tension between Eric and Dele still remains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY everyone for taking such a long break but I've been busy. I did edit out a few bits from chapter 3 so make sure to check up on them to comprehend the latest chapter. If you like my writing style, please leave prompts in the comments if you want me to do an one-shot or a chapter-novel, whatever it may be. I simply love the pair and would love to write more for them.

Four Months Later

Dele leaned down and splashed a handful of water onto his face. As he tore out a few strips of paper towel, he noted Toby styling his own hair beside him. Dele snorted. “You need to give it a break, mate,”

“Perfection takes effort,” Toby defended, as he carved out the shape of his hairstyle. “You’ll learn soon enough,”

“I think my hair is alright,” said Dele, inspecting himself in the mirror with a tinge of self-consciousness. 

“Yeah, it’s alright, not amazing,” Toby repeated but with condescension. 

“Fuck off mate, you don’t get English humour,”

Toby laughed as Dele left the bathroom, slapping Toby on the ass teasingly. Their changing room in White Hart Lane was nearly empty, save for a few bags and socks strewn about. They had just narrowly beaten West Ham with a couple of last-minute thrillers and the energy level post-match had been high. It wasn’t so much euphoric as it was refreshing; regardless of the dull run of draws they had been maintaining, to realize that they were capable of vigour was indeed a much-needed boost of confidence. 

Dele gathered his bags and began to shuffle out of the room. “Yo Dele!”

Eric’s familiar voice roared through the changing room and Dele turned back to source the sound. “What’s up?” he asked. 

“A bunch of us are going to get some drinks at the Boulevard tonight,”

“Oh,” Dele did not want to seem like he was spending too much contemplating the question, even though his mind was thrown into a pit of questions, hypotheses, memories and fears. “Sure,”

Eric led the way out of the changing rooms, through the tunnels and into the cordoned parking lot. The fans had cleared off by now but there was always the possibility of a few paparazzi lurking about. Eric pointed at Dele’s car. “Mind if I get a lift?”

“Don’t tell me you Ubered it here again,”

“I don’t like driving on matchdays,”

“You’re full of shite, Dier!” Dele shook his head as he got into the drivers’ seat, with Eric following him into the seat next to him. 

“You’ve got your fair share of superstitions,”

“But...” Dele began to protest. 

“Don’t lie,” Eric said emphatically. 

The engine hummed alive and Dele twisted the keys in. They pulled out of the parking lot in silence and wanting to deflate the tension, Dele turned on the radio. Some routine hit buzzed through and Dele hoped that it would be enough to not let the recent coldness of their relationship slither in. It had been a choice on Eric’s part; following their holidays in the South, they had come back home and passively decided to never bring up the events that occurred the night of England’s loss to Iceland, due to not one but many reasons. 

Since then, Eric had been civil but distant. There was the usual greeting and the team socials at clubs and restaurants, there was the occasional camaraderie that playing for the same team naturally brought on but no more did Dele have the space to bond with Eric on a personal level. Their inside jokes had been thrown out, their flirty glances were forced out and their friendship-or-more feelings had disappeared, or it seemed so. 

“How’s Maria?” asked Dele, just to have something resembling a conversation materialize out of the awkward lift. 

“She’s...well. She’s well,” he said confidently. “She’s thinking of moving here, actually,”

“Oh!” Dele exclaimed, tipping his head, even though his heart sank a little bit. “That must be exciting for you,”

“Of course,” said Eric. “She applied to university. Wants to be a businesswoman,”

“What happened to her dreams of being a teacher or nurse or...”

“People change. I support her in whatever she wants to do, obviously,”

Dele nodded, keeping his eyes straight on the road ahead. Now he could already picture his girlfriend at the stands, emoting with every twist and turn of the game. Jumping with joy with every goal scored. Slamming the seats with every goal conceded. Cursing her mouth off every time Eric gets booked. He could picture Eric jogging up to her after every home game, leaping up for a kiss. All this time, she was a detached, unfamiliar object and now she was going to become a real, tangible part of the team. 

The two reached the Boulevard and met up with the rest of the boys: Kyle, Coco, Christian, Winksy and H. They were led into the VIP section, as was customary in these kind of venues. Long gone were the days when Dele would inconspicuously glide through the local pub circuit, cause a ruckus and be able to disappear without a media slime tracing his movement or behaviour. 

It was dim-lit, detached and oddly colder than the general section of the club. The boys crammed into a giant, circular table and Kyle ordered a set of drinks for the group. Dele struck up a conversation with Coco about a new relaxation app he had been using while Eric chatted with Harry. 

“It just has little exercises that you can do at the end of the day,”

“Like breathe?” Coco asked, chewing his straw. 

“Well, yeah, but it times your...”

“I don’t like yoga, you see...” he replied. “I’m more of a running sort of guy,”

Dele glanced at Eric, who seemed fully immersed in his conversation with H. Dele turned back to Coco but assured Eric’s shape lingered in his periphery. He glanced again in a few minutes and hoped that Eric would somehow lock eyes with him, even for a second. But it did not matter; Eric did not care. Eric was past it all, past their bromance, past their almost-romance, past their argument, past the shame, past the anger, past the sadness and past the weakness that had brought them closer. 

“You okay, Dele?” asked Coco. 

Dele blinked. “All good. Just a bit euphoric about tonight,”

“Foic?” Coco wrinkled his forehead. 

“Eu-pho-ric,” Dele enunciated. “It means, really happy but almost...like, you’re in a dream,”

Coco nodded and slurped down the rest of his drink. Dele looked down and was surprised to see that his glass had also been emptied. “Bloody Maria?” Dele offered, as he stood up. 

Coco grinned. “You know it, amigo,” 

It was frankly a relief to escape the tedium that had surrounded the table. As he stamped forward to the bar, he thought back to the celebrations that transpired following their victory. Perhaps it was the adrenaline brought on by triumph, perhaps it was simply shock but he had a hard time believing that he would actually be brooding uncomfortable at this point in the night. Images of Eric and Maria flashed in his head, kissing, holding hands, out shopping, having babies, signing new trophies, posing for photos with trophies.   
“Two bloody Mary’s, please,” Dele tapped his feet as the bartender mixed their drinks. 

“Don’t see many of you around,” Dele looked up at a beautiful brunette regarding him with a sultry stare. “Might I take advantage of your good mood?”

The bartender placed the two glasses on the counter and glided off to another customer. Dele stared at the glasses so as to avoid making eye contact with the salacious woman.   
“Do you want drinks or do you want...”

“I want the company of some lovely men...” She floated off her stool and minced over to Dele. She stroked her finger down his arm and leaned closer. “I’ve always had a liking for footballers,” 

Dele turned and stared down at her. The gravity of the ingested alcohol was rising to his head and was beginning to blur his vision. Her lips glistened in hot red and the eyeliner curved off her eyes towards infinity. She pouted and her lips slightly parted. 

“He’s already got a supermodel girlfriend, thank you very much,” 

Dele awakened from his confusion as Eric stepped beside him. “How about you wait for a couple of days and fish some UFC men?”

The girl winced. “I’m a fashion designer, by the way,”

“Okay, we’ll call you for our fourth kit,” Eric said, to which she grit her teeth and shamble off to other parts of the club. “Christ, these girls don’t give up,”

“Why’d you stop her?” asked Dele, still a bit dumbfounded by Eric’s sudden appearance. 

“Well, you do have a girlfriend, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but...” Dele bit his lip. “It’s not like Ruby and I are exclusive,” he mumbled. 

“What?” Eric asked, as the music exploded inside the club and their voices melted. 

Dele shook his head in defeat and grabbed the two drinks in his head. They made their way over to the table but this time, Eric opted to squeeze himself between Coco and Dele. Dele grinned as he listened in on what the boys were talking about. 

“Fucking Americans; little kids actually came to our doors this Halloween. Missus made me buy a basket full of candy,”

“Not like you can’t afford any,” Dele responded. 

“Don’t be so sure of that,” Eric said. “You haven’t even seen his latest wheels!”

“Another one?” Harry exclaimed with a look of disbelief. “You don’t shut up, do you?”

“No wonder the media hates us,” Christian remarked, shaking his head as he flicked some peanuts into his mouth. 

“But who cares anyways?” asked Coco. “It’s for only kids, no?”

“You’d be surprised, mate,” Christian added. “Sabrina wanted to dress up as a sexy cop this year,”

“Must be Christmas for you, yeah?” Eric asked teasingly. 

“You’re forgetting this Dane hates the police,” said Harry. 

“Disdain,” Kyle repeated, nodding his head in admiration. “I like it,”

The boys laughed and broke off into separate, smaller conversations. Dele ordered another couple round of beers for the boys and offered to pay it himself. Not only because he was feeling generous this night but he realized that he did not have too many people to spend the money on. He certainly did not want to indulge Ruby in her quest for jewellery or shoes. 

“So Eric, how ya feeling about having your girl in town?” asked Coco. 

Eric took a sip of his beer, his mouth popping out of the rim of the bottle. “I feel alright, a bit nervous,”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t want her to face this shitty life of ours,”

“Shitty?” Coco asked, perplexed. Thankfully, his red hat covered most of his upper face to be able to convey a facial response. “Really?”

“You know what I mean,” And that’s all Eric decided to say about that issue. He lowered his head and drilled his gaze into the table. 

“Don’t worry, mate,” said Coco. “I’m sure she’ll like it,”

Eric smiled sheepishly and Dele observed his conveyance. He looked so gentle and adorable that Dele could not help but place a hand on his knee. He did not think it was that big a deal, considering Eric fended off a girl for him a few minutes ago, but Eric immediately looked up and gazed at Dele. Their eyes locked and an acknowledgment occurred. Eric grinned and went back to chatting with Coco. Dele’s hand did not budge off his knee for the remainder of the night. 

Eventually, the boys wrapped up their time at the club and began hitching their rides home. Since Dele had driven him here, he had an unspoken obligation to drive him home as well but this time around, he did not feel the tangles of awkwardness creep into his body. He was more than grateful to be able to spend more time with Eric. Neither were too intoxicated like the other lads, which perhaps made Dele more conscious of the implications of being alone. 

However, the ride back was quiet. Eric seemed drained, his eyes shuttering off, his body slouched against the door. Dele smiled meekly to himself; Eric had the stamina of a grandpa. Of course, on the pitch, Eric moved like a bulldog but off it, he was fatigued, grumpy, oftentimes shy, irritable, insecure and wonderful. In twenty minutes, Dele halted his car before Eric’s house. He shut the engine off and there was nothing but stark silence inside the car. “Eric,” Dele called out. 

“Yup,”

“You wanna get up at some point?”

Eric sat up straight and looked forward. “She knows,” he mumbled. 

Dele turned his ear toward Eric in befuddlement; Eric had a tendency to be inaudible when he was sleepy. 

“Maria knows,”

Dele’s chest was pierced by a strike of fear; words failed to bubble through his mouth. Is that why Maria was moving to London? To keep an eye on Eric so he would not flail off his line towards Dele? So he remained committed to her? Dele felt immediately saddened by the possibility of not being able to spend time with Eric anymore, even in a group setting. 

“She knows how I feel about you,”

His fear was punched by a sudden pool of amazement. “How do you feel about me?” he thought to ask for confirmation. 

Eric turned to him blankly. “You know how I feel about you,”

Dele grinned. “What’s she going to do?”  
“Nothing,” Eric answered. “She wants what’s best for me,”

What’s best for Eric? That statement contained a range of possibilities, some of which will not bode with what Dele presumed to be best for Eric. Did that mean that he wanted Eric to maintain his cloud of heterosexuality? Of denial? To direct his focus on football and nothing else?

“Does she hate me now?”

“Not at all, Dele,” 

Dele looked down at his feet as the air of anticipation hung over their heads like a moon. He did not know how to interpret the crossroads they have come upon tonight, in this very car. He knew that Eric liked him, and he knew that he liked Eric. If only for a second would he allow himself to forget their burgeoning, promising careers, the stigma of being a footballer, the absence of homosexual players in the game, the cruelty of the media, the responsibilities bestowed on their heads by the country and club and everything that came with the territory. 

“Can I kiss you?”

Eric grinned, but said nothing. 

Dele surged forward and planted the slowest, most delicate kiss on Eric. His stomach was rocked by a shot of pleasure as he could feel his heart race up the course in loops. Eric’s lips were soft but full, eager but respectful. Eric put his hand on Dele’s knee, replicating the move Dele had pulled in the club. Dele pulled back and stared at Eric, his wondrous eyes, the short blond hair on his head, his wet lips and thought to himself that he had had Eric this whole time anyways. Had they been dating this whole time anyways or does it not count as dating if there was no physical action involved?

Eric bit his bottom lip and stared out the window. “Don’t ask the next time,” he said shyly. He opened the door, cast one tempting look at Dele and shuffled off towards his front door. 

Dele chuckled to himself and punched his fist in the air as a gesture of victory. They had no idea where they were heading but Dele couldn’t wait.


	5. Chapter 5

Eric swatted Dele’s hand away from the bowl of crisps. “Not till later!” he warned, as he sauntered over to the sofa, the bowl in his protective custody. 

“Are you serious? They’re not going to eat anything, those boys,” protested Dele, following Eric into the hall. “It’s like all of them have weddings coming up,” 

“We’re all supposed to keep fit, if you don’t remember,”

Dele sunk into the cushions and stretched his neck back. “C’mon, mate,”

Eric noted how adorable Dele looked, the innocence springing forth his baby face, his dark, round eyes in perpetual amusement. Begrudgingly, he shifted the bowl and allowed Dele to snag a handful of crisps into his mouth. Eric, too, helped himself to a few. Their eyes rolled towards the TV, where BT sport was airing highlights of Spurs’ demolition of Swansea. 

“Nice skill there, Dellboy,” remarked Eric, pointing forward at a clip of Dele slotting a nutmeg by some player. 

“I learn from the best,” Dele curled his lips in a sarcastic simper. 

“You’re so cheeky, aren’t you?” Eric placed the bowl on the coffee table and slid down the length of the sofa towards Dele. He pushed Dele against the arm of the sofa and slammed a deep, powerful kiss into his mouth. 

Dele wrapped his arms around Eric’s neck and bent flat, letting Eric’s body heave above him. Eric immersed himself into Dele’s fragrance, assuring that no surface of their skin was left untouched. He drowned his lips into Dele’s mouth, adopting its wetness into every cell of his aching body. It was not just the throbbing pulse of desire that impelled him closer to Dele but the freedom the two had found between each other. The longing that lingered in the air before had now transformed into touch, the desire that coursed through their veins had become power. The flesh of his lips clashing with those of Dele made him feel glorious and fulfilled like no goal has before. 

“The boys are going to be here soon,” Dele reminded him, breaking off his mouth from Eric’s. 

“Exactly. They aren’t here, yet,” countered Eric, before he dove back down into Dele’s mouth. Soon, he wriggled down to Dele’s neck, relishing the moans bubbling out of Dele’s mouth. Dele squirmed underneath, holding Eric’s head in his hand, letting his skin be perforated by the coarseness of Eric’s tongue. Eric smirked into Dele’s neck, wanting to bombard Dele with unadulterated pleasure. 

“Eric, stop,” Dele said, pushing Eric’s body off his. “I can’t be having hickies on my neck right now,”

Eric sighed and sat up regrettably. “You’re right,” 

“But maybe later tonight,” Dele ensured with a promising grin. He sat up and reached forward for a chaste kiss. 

“I’ll hold you to that,” 

As predicted, the boys showed up within the next ten minutes. Christian, Sonny, Kevin, Coco swaggered into the hall with beers and snacks in tow. They all did their handshakes and greetings and settled down in front of the FIFA setup. 

“Oh mate, there is no fucking way I’m going as PSG. I haven’t room for long balls,” protested Harry, his fingers swiping across the controller. 

“They not bad,” said Coco, shoving a handful of crisps into his mouth. “Cavani can carry them on flank,”

“And miss sitters like it’s Christmas,” quipped Harry, flicking his fingers over the buttons. 

They began their first round of the obligatory FIFA game. The boys were as usual rowdy and curses flew through the room like birds in the morning. The first bowl of crisps was ravaged within the first thirty minutes and Eric began unloading the new bag. After Kevin and Sonny were brutally defeated in the first half, Christian leaned back and eyed Dele. “What happened to your girl?”

Dele raised his eyebrow. 

“The model,” 

Dele made an ‘oh’ sound and immediately exchanged a grave look with Eric. “Um, she’s doing great. She’s doing well,”

“Nice,” Christian said, taking a sip from his bottle. “Good for you, man,”

Dele however looked a bit uneasy as he slightly wriggled in his hair. He grabbed a crisp but just held it in his hand, his lips sucked in; his eyes darted back and forth. “I broke up with her, though,” 

“Shit, really?” Son asked, his face twisted in surprise. 

“Yeah,” Dele admitted, grinning at Eric. “Too much drama,”

Eric smiled sheepishly to himself and gently drank from his bottle. Dele, wanting to please Eric even further, continued, “I like people who keep it simple. Who don’t fuss around,”

“Okay, who wants another round of beers?” Eric offered. 

“Yes, please,” Coco said, smiling suggestively. 

Eric walked back to the kitchen, only this time Dele followed him. Dele wished so fervently to place his hands on Eric’s hips and kiss on the side of his neck but he knew that the boys, though distracted, would certainly notice. 

“I’m not lying, you know,” Dele reiterated. “I really did break up with her,”

Eric opened the door to the fridge, letting it hide his facial expression. “Why’d you do that for?” he asked abrasively. 

“Because I’ve got my eyes on this other lad, you know,”

“Lad, you say?” Eric pulled out a few bottles and eyed Dele provocatively. “Didn’t figure you for a poofter, Dellboy,”

Dele chuckled and heaped a set of bottles into his own arms. “Yeah, but this one guy really changed my attitude, y’know. It’s all because of him,”

The fun and games continued for a couple of hours before a few of the lads had their phones ringing and were called home by their girlfriends or family. Only Sonny and Kevin remained and they also seemed inclined to going home but were too lazy to lift their arses off the leather couches. Dele settled himself into the now-empty space and stretched his legs far wide to land on Eric’s lap. Eric smiled and stroked Dele’s little toe absentmindedly. 

“Think Hugo is going to sign that new contract?” Eric brought up, seeing as there was now room for actual conversation instead of the mindless video games the boys were normally occupied with. 

“Dunno. How long you think it takes him to realize that he can be playing somewhere better?” Kevin responded. 

“Don’t say that, mate,” Dele consoled. “Yeah, we can be shit but you know at our best, none of them teams’ve got what we’ve got,”

“And what makes you say that?” inquired Eric. 

“Name me one team we haven’t beat in recent years,”  
Eric grinned; the fact that he had to think about it proved Dele’s point. But he was not going to cede that easily, either. “Don’t get so cocky,” Eric smirked. “We don’t want another Newcastle, do we?”  
That demonstrably destroyed the atmosphere. Kevin grimaced and stood up while Sonny shook his head in disgust, as if he had smelled something nasty in the room. The pair gathered their jackets and their car keys and did their regular greeting handshakes with the boys. Eric decided to see the boys off downstairs, seeing as he was the host. Returning back, he noted Dele cleaning up after the boys, putting away the beer bottles, wiping down the crumbs off the table, straightening up the pillows and whatnot. Eric shook his head sheepishly and plopped down exhaustedly on the sofa. 

“You okay?” asked Dele in his soft but considerate voice. He took a seat next to Eric and placed his palm on the small of his neck. 

Eric flashed a grin at Dele and pulled him closer into his arms. “Of course,” Yet his face was weighted down by a wariness that had not existed earlier. Eric was not the sort of person who expressed his inner frustration as explicitly or physically as Dele did; he took his time to ponder and contemplate. 

“What’s wrong, babe?” Dele rested his head on Eric’s shoulder and couched his entire upper body into the hollow of Eric’s arms. 

“Babe?” Eric asked nonchalantly, not even casting a glance at him. 

“Well, why not? Now that we’re doing this, might as well make the most of it,”

Eric chuckled and kissed him on the forehead. “I worry what our friends might think. Playing FIFA, eating crisps and doing our dumb handshakes, all that could change,”

“I’ll still play FIFA with you,” Dele assured with such a striking innocence that Eric couldn’t help but look down at him with admiration. He leaned down for a short but slow kiss. “And I know we don’t have a handshake but I’m always up for a good snog or two,”

Dele stared up at Eric. He wondered why he hadn’t made the move for him before but he figured that it was worth it to get to know him as well. Did he always like boys? Not at all. He had as typical an adolescence as every other lad out there, in terms of the late-night wanks, the ugly trends he had dreamed fashionable and getting off with girls in shoddy bathrooms. And even during the course of their friendship, Dele did not hold lascivious feelings for Eric; he simply just enjoyed his company. 

Although the signs were there, despite his best attempts at trying to avoid them. Now as Dele relaxed into Eric’s arms, he closed his eyes and ran the past year through his head. He was somewhat of a religious person but he also believed in destiny. To have Eric in his life...it could have been a function of both. 

==========================================================================================================

 

Dele peered at the lace and fumbled through it with his fingers. The colours jumped at it when he squinted down at them up close but they looked somewhat orange from the distance. 

The changing room was buzzing with anticipation ahead of their game against Chelsea. Last season was last season but it certainly felt like the boys had something to prove against Chelsea, an opponent with whom they perhaps shared the most heated relationship outside of Arsenal. Last season, when they collapsed at Stamford Bridge, Dele did not play and deep inside, he believed, perhaps due to his healthy ego, that had he played that evening, he might have been able to help the team in some way or the other. Or perhaps he would have lost it and plunged deeper into violence in the company of his zealous teammates. No one could tell. 

Yet the boys were beaming with confidence for their performance against Chelsea today. They might falter against smaller teams and fail to act or react but they knew how capable they were against the big dogs. Music blared through the speakers and boys were warming up with stretches, dances and just random cheering. Eric was chatting with Danny by his locker, occasionally shooting flirty glances at Dele. 

“You’ve been staring awfully hard at those boots,” says Kyle, ruffling Dele’s hair as he comes to do the same on the bench. 

The laces were part of a campaign against homophobia in football. Before this year, Dele would have barely spared a thought or two about these recurring campaigns that eventually seem to have no effect on the culture of football but this year, he introspected about the conditions that must exist on and off the football pitch to help a player be in touch with his sexuality. 

“Do you wonder who could be gay in the league?” asked Dele, looking at Kyle seriously to establish that this wasn’t just a poor attempt at a joke. 

“Aw, shit, mate,” Kyle responded with a cheerful shrug. “How am I supposed to know?”

“I dunno...who’s got that girlie voice and the...”

“Dele, you’re slagging me off, are you?” Kyle laughed. “Being gay might not have anything to do with how you talk or walk. You’ve just gotta like another bloke,”

Dele nodded and felt guilty for even bringing up such an assumption. He bit down his lip and stared at his boots. “How do you think people are going to react when someone comes out?”

Kyle lifted up his shoulders. “The players are going to be fine, more or less. Everyone works in teams; so if you’ve got a problem with someone on the team, you’re the one who’s going to get the boot, not the other guy. As for the crowd, that’s gotta be tough,” Kyle shook his head in disappointment. “But slurs and insults will be coming for you either way. Before they were about you being stupid or black or ugly or poor, now it’ll be about you being gay...”

Dele grinned. “You’re a smart bloke, you know that?”

“Of course I am,” Kyle laughed as he stood up. “I realize it every five seconds when I’m serving you balls,”

Dele slightly elbowed Kyle on the stomach and dashed off to Eric. Danny, Eric and Dele had a quick conversation about the strategy they were going to implement against Chelsea before Danny walked off to fetch his water bottle. Eric laughed at Dele knowingly and wrapped his arm around his shoulder. 

“Y’know, the laces, the campaign, all this crap is for us,” Eric noted, as Dele drew closer to him. 

Even though they were now aware of their feelings for each other and how their relationship had been upgraded, to say the least, they did not bother to hide their affections for each other in public. Everyone still figured them to be having a bromance and if they didn’t mind the cuddling before, they probably wouldn’t mind it now. 

“You ever thought about that?” Eric continued. “For two people like us to be able to hold hands together and play freely, the entire league has rallied together. They all want to protect us and make us feel accepted,”

“What are you getting at?” asked Dele, before pouring down the liquid of his water bottle into his mouth. 

“It won’t be so bad. Whatever we decide to do,” And that’s all he said about that before the pair jogged out of the changing room in each other’s arms. 

=========================================================================================

On a Thursday night in early December, Dele decided to pop over to Eric’s house without prior warning. By then, Eric had given Dele a set of his keys so Dele was just expecting an usual affair of cuddling, watching Netflix and a little action on the bed but as he opened the door, he was stunned by the sight of a girl in long blonde hair leaning over Eric at the kitchen. 

“Dele, hey!” Eric greeted him, as Dele lumbered forward towards the kitchen. 

Maria was wearing a low-cut dress and her hair, as usual, was flowing like a cascade, wild and luscious. The kitchen smelled of pepper and ginger and the kitchen was strewn with utensils, cooking equipment and ingredients to whatever elaborate meal the two were cooking. Dele smiled sheepishly. 

Eric muttered something at her in Portuguese and she immediately strode forward to grip Dele into a hug. Dele returned the hug rather gawkily and looked at Eric questioningly. But Eric was unaware about Dele’s hesitance. 

“Maria and I are making a classic Portuguese dish. She claims it’s her grandmothers’ recipe but I call bullshit on it,”

Maria seemed to understand what he was saying and slapped him on the back. They both bickered in Portuguese as Dele stood there, uncomfortable and a bit confused. He knew that Maria was okay with Eric having feelings for Dele but he did know to what extent Maria and Eric were going to remain friendly with each other. 

After a while, Maria glanced at Dele sympathetically and said something to Eric that involved Dele’s name, causing him to look suspiciously at the two of them. Eric laughed, and said, “She says you look really sad,”

“Just bored,” Dele looked down at the counter dejectedly. 

“Congrats on goal,” Maria said, to which Dele glimmered in surprise. “I know...I still learn English,”

“It’s really coming along well, though,” Dele said to her. “You’ll have the London twang in no time,”

Maria wrinkled her eyebrows and Eric translated Dele’s sentence for her. Maria understood and laughed. Even though it was slow and halting, the three of them were trying to go through a couple of conversations through translations provided ever so generously by Eric, who was stirring the pot and cutting vegetables at the same time. When the meal was near to conclusion, Maria and Dele set to the dining area to set the plates. 

As they were preparing the table, Maria slithered close to him. “I know of you and Eric. I have letter. Read when you want,” she smiled, as she tucked in a small note inside Dele’s hand. 

Dele immediately rushed to the bathroom. If she chose to deliver the letter away from Eric, then it certainly meant that she did not want Eric to know that she had written Dele a note in the first place. Dele sat on the toilet seat and unfolded the note. 

Dear Dele,   
This is because I cannot speak English, so I asked one of my English-proficient friends to translate it for me. But that does not mean that I am any less eloquent. Eric told me about you when we were in Portugal and though it surprised me, I had never been happier for him. Well, besides when he scored for England. In one way, I had always known that you and him were more than friends but it was pleasing to be confirmed of the fact. That being said, I want you to treat him well. He has been my best friend for many years and that is not going to change any time soon. If he is picking you over me, you better make his choice worth it. And that means, no more temper tantrums, no more expecting him to cover for you. You will forever be on a yellow with him, remember that.   
Maria 

Dele flicked his tear off his cheek and tucked the letter into the pocket of his jeans. Upon returning to the living room, he saw that Eric and Maria had already seated themselves into the table and were waiting for Dele. Dele sat next to Eric but before they could begin their meal, Dele leaned forward and kissed Eric deeply. Eric, afterwards, looked daze and even a little embarrassed. “What was that for?”

“For making me the luckiest guy in all of...” Dele said. “North London,”

Maria somehow understood the joke and began chortling. Eric shook his head and slapped Dele on the head. Maria gasped and in response, slapped Eric in the same manner possible. Eric cried, “Ow!”

Dele exchanged an amused look of understanding with her. She really was the coolest girlfriend Eric could have.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dele's 2 goals against Chelsea brings the pair closer together.

White Hart Lane had risen in uproar. Dele felt shivers down his spine as he lumbered off the pitch in rousing applause. Even David Luiz leaned forward to shake his hand as a gesture of sportsmanship. The adrenaline ran through his senses uncontrollably, blurring his vision of his surroundings. He just beheld the specks of people glimmering under the light of the stadium, singing chants at the top of their lungs, drunk off their euphoric yet measured victory. 

Dele was making it happen. He did not really comprehend it at the time but as he waited at the tunnel to be interviewed, the gravitas of their special night dawned on him. Scoring two headers in his backyard would have made no difference, not even to his self-esteem. But scoring the same two headers against Chelsea in front of their stirring home crowd elevated him to a pedestal of glory and pride. Eric grinned at him coyly as he gulped down water. Dele smiled in return, leaned closer and whispered in his ear, “I want to kiss you so bad,”

Eric laughed. “Can you imagine if there was a mic attached to your shirt right now?” He snaked his arm around Dele and squeezed his neck playfully. “That head of yours might be strong but it’s still empty,”

“Are YOU really pinching me off my big head?” asked Dele. 

They were summoned behind the camera soon and the interviewer began asking them routine questions regarding their game. When Dele was describing his account of the game, he felt Eric struggling against an onset of giggles. Dele froze and chuckled, but was quick enough to recover and continue his interview. Dele sought to tease Eric in similar fashion when it was his turn to speak and as predicted, Eric cracked up while speaking. 

“What’re you laughing at?”

Dele was beginning to think that their joint interviews were becoming rather inconvenient in terms of their professional conduct but then again, he could never pass an opportunity to rattle Eric in the spotlight. Once they wrapped up their interview, they headed back to the changing room. Congratulations were soaring through the air; almost every individual, regardless of their association with Tottenham, circled by Dele and shook his head, patted his back. 

Kyle was having a bit of banter with Dele and Eric when Poch strode into the room and motioned at Dele. Dele slid out of their circle and approached his boss near the door. 

“Hiya,”  
“You did good today,” said Poch straight-forwardly. His tone was so stoic and formal that Dele could have just as well perceived his compliment as insincere but he knew that Poch was not the frantic, emotional kind who hopped onto stands or kicked up the flags at every goal. He was passive but understanding, quiet but appreciative. 

“Thank you,” Dele chewed his lower lip. It was also not like his manager to pull a player out of post-match celebration in a manner as clandestine and sombre as this. “What’s up boss?”

“Want to tell you that you behave,”

Dele gulped. It was not the most ludicrous of advice; especially for someone who’s had as colourful of a record as his but he was still taken aback by the timing of the instruction. He could expect something like that on the back of a game in which he committed an extravagant foul or got sent off; not following a game in which he headed down two winning goals. Nevertheless, he nodded his head and answered sincerely. “Yes, sir,”

“I know you young like to party and crazy but this is no time. You focus and you work hard,” he added. And then he softened his voice and pierced into Dele’s eyes with care. “And if you need someone to talk, I am here. Not best as English but better talk than drink and police,”

“Haha, thank you, Boss,” Dele reached forward for another hug before the manager sauntered off to talk with Jan.

Slowly, the celebrations in the room lessened and the boys began trickling out, the noise lowering and eventually dying out. Only Eric and Dele remained, taking their time at laughing, teasing, wrestling with each other, soaking in the elation of their unlikely but convincing victory. 

“So what are you going to do tonight?” asked Eric, as they shuffled towards the car park. “Booty call for the model girlfriend?” 

Dele slapped him on the back of his neck. “She has a name, you know,”

“Yeah, Slippy Buttcheeks?” joked Eric. 

Dele rolled his eyes as he twirled his car keychain around his index finger. “I’m actually taking her out for breakfast tomorrow,”

“As a date?”

“Not really, or maybe. She says that she still wants to continue to be friends with me. She says that the coverage helps her career. Her modelling contracts are upgraded, she’s getting more gigs, all that crap,”

“So it’s not a real friendship,”

Dele shook his head shamefully. He stopped upon his car and lingered by the door as Eric angled himself against the door. There were always paparazzi lurking, even hours past the final game whistle. Eric grinned. “Do you want to go on a ride with me?”

“Now?” Dele asked, glimpsing at his watch. 

“Why not? We deserve it, don’t we?” 

Dele pretended to ponder on the offer but knew that there was nothing to consider at all. He was always in. “Let’s go,”

Eric opted to drive, so they jogged back towards his car. Dele clipped on his seatbelt and the car sped into the polished North London streets. Eric turned on his playlist and a mellow R&B track flew through the speakers. Dele stared out the window; a few hours he had won them the vital game against Chelsea and now he was being driven to unknown pastures by Eric. He has had happier nights but the exhilaration had not been this high for quite some time. 

His heart still thumped against his chest so firmly that it took him a few seconds to realize that Eric had placed his palm on Dele’s knee. Dele turned to look at Eric for a reaction but Eric was focused on the road; such a gesture as casual and natural for him as it was romantic and special for Dele. 

“So where is this place?” asked Dele. 

“Just a little clearing. Nice to get some fresh air,”

“You better not be murdering me, y’know,”

“I would never do that to you. How else are we supposed to knock in headers, eh?” Eric laughed. 

In another thirty minutes, they reached their destination: a meadow by the lake, right off the highway. It was dark, save for the post of lights lining the highway. Dele could make out the shape of the lake, although he couldn’t clearly see the contents of it. The pair opened all the doors to the car and soon settled at the backseat on top of each other. Dele lay on his back as Eric nuzzled against his neck. They made out for what felt like hours before Eric finally slipped his hand into Dele’s pants. 

Dele closed his eyes and let the sensations of Eric’s touch smash into his mind. It took them three or four minutes before Dele was spilling into Eric’s hand. They kissed a few more times before Eric stretched to the front seat and into the glove box to pull out a few tissues. Composing themselves, they wriggled back to the front. A few minutes of silence ensued, in which Dele could finally begin to contemplate on what had occurred and what could occur in the future, between the two of them, in the club, throughout the league. 

“I love you,” said Dele. He turned his entire body and face towards Eric, so he could regard him at his rawest, most vulnerable display of emotion. 

“Love is a strong word...but I really do like you,” His face appeared so serious that Dele would have taken him by word and be disappointed unless he remembered that those were the exact words Dele had said about Eric in a recent interview. 

Eric laughed at Dele’s realization and ruffled his hair. “I love you too,” he returned, before reached for another kiss. “Have for quite some time now,”

“I wish it was different,” admitted Dele, cradling himself into Eric’s arms yet again. “That I could flaunt you as my beloved. Kiss you in islands. Hold your hands on shopping trips,”  
“We can do all those things, Dele,”

“I know, but...you also know we can’t...” he said regrettably. Maybe it would matter one day but tonight, their fears matter not at all.


	7. Chapter 7

The breakneck pounding from upstairs refused to let up. Dele punched his hand against the bed and grunted. Pausing, he glared up the ceiling with flaming, dark eyes. “Goddamit,” he hissed. 

Eric stroked Dele’s head. “They’re just getting their windows replaced,”

“Fucking arseholes,” Dele lowered his head back to Eric’s severe erection and continued running his mouth across its length. 

Eric tightened his grip on Dele’s head and craned his neck against the pillow. Eric closed his eyes and squirmed as Dele’s electric touch jolted his core. This was not Dele’s first time trying his hand, or mouth, at a blowjob, and Eric could perceive how confident Dele had become, his actions precisely synced with Eric’s reactions. 

The pounding aggravated and Dele unplugged from Eric and clicked his tongue in frustration. “This is the worst. Shut the fuck up!” Dele yelled at the ceiling to no effect, unsurprisingly. 

“We can pick this up later?” offered Eric, sensing Dele’s deflating energy. 

“No, no, I’m making you come, mate,” insisted Dele, getting back to working up Eric’s straining member. Eric moaned, as his orgasm lurked beneath the sounds of Dele hastily lapping at his penis and the machine drilling upstairs. 

It is not a question that Eric had to contemplate before: how was Dele in bed? To be fair, despite harbouring feelings for his best mate, Eric never considered the sexual aspect of his infatuation. They loved each other through chaste and platonic actions; never did they have to consider what else the relationship could entail. Eric knew that Dele had been sexually active with his girlfriend, and Eric had been with his, but when it came to navigating the same motions around their homosexual relationship, Eric was not afraid to admit that he felt as nervous and confused as a pre-adolescent virgin. 

But luckily enough, Dele was as creative and naughty in the bedroom as he was on the pitch. Dele pinched down on Eric’s penis with his index finger and shifted his mouth to his scrotum. Within seconds, Eric was shooting like a volley twenty yards out. Dele took him in his mouth one last time to swallow. Gulping down the salty contents, he licked his mouth and laughed. 

Eric grinned, his eyes twinkling, being able to regain some sense of awareness. Dele crawled up Eric’s body and dove in for a deep, wet kiss. The drilling got louder and Dele rolled off Eric in a sigh. “You’ve got to move,”

“Because of this noise? Dele, it’s only one day,”

Dele turned to his side to face Eric properly. “No, because it’s a pretty shite place for parking,”

“That’s none of my concern,” teased Eric. “You could try walking, maybe,”

They were warming up to another snogging session when Eric’s doorbell rang. Dele raised his eyebrows. “Who is it?” he asked in alarm. 

“Fuck,” Eric glanced at his phone. “I told H to bring me his old Nike boots,”

“Fuck!” Dele cursed, jumping to his feet. 

He rummaged through the room to find his shirt, as did Eric. Once Dele slipped on his t-shirt and jeans, Eric pointed at the door. “Open the door! We don’t want him getting suspicious..."

“Suspicious? I just sucked your dick,” said Dele. “What the fuck am I...”

The doorbell rang again. Eric motioned violently at the room as he stumbled to his closet for a fresh pair of clothes. “Go!”

Dele faltered towards the front door, his face discolouring in panic. He opened the door slowly and flashed a disingenuous smile at Harry. “Sup, mate?” he greeted, trying to come off as casual as he could. 

“Fancy seeing you here!” said Harry, as he strode forward into the flat. He was dressed in a blue sweatshirt, some dark pair of jeans and held a beige clothed bag in his hands.   
“Thought you were going out with your blokes from school,”

“They cancelled last minute,” Dele lied. “Fucking mouth-breathers,”

“Where is Eric?”

Dele swivelled his head towards Eric’s bedroom door. “He just woke up so...I guess he’s just freshening up,”

“Yeah?” asked Harry. “What were you doing?”

“Playing a bit of FIFA,” Dele quickly replied. 

“Really?”

Dele realized the TV screen was completely shut off, but he had dug himself too far into the hole to be able to reason out of it. Harry and Dele made conversation for a few minutes; fortunately, the inquisitive questions had stopped and the two could slip into their usual camaraderie. Harry had recently become a father and had countless anecdotes about many a sleepless nights and nasty baby adventures. Dele broke out into giggles as Harry showed him the latest photos of his daughter throwing up her food. 

When Eric joined them, the three of them got to discussing casually about their next match against Stoke. Even though they managed to win the next four matches after their scintillating win against Chelsea, they had drawn their last two premier matches. But they knew that the three points at Stoke were rather theirs to lose. 

The drilling restarted again and Harry grimaced at its rage-inducing noise. “You should move, Dier!” Harry suggested through the raucous sound. 

“It’s just one day!” Eric reiterated. 

“Yeah, but the parking is horrible,”

“That’s what I told him!” Dele mentioned, gesticulating at Eric. 

Eric shook his head in disappointment.

“Besides,” Harry continued. “Dele could very well use a flatmate, right, Dele?”

“Um,” Dele purred, looking down, lest he blushed at Eric’s curious but surprised stare. 

“You guys are spending so much time together already. Won’t it be better to live together?”

It would certainly lessen their loneliness in this foreign, bustling city of London. Both Eric and Dele felt like outsiders slogging through its teeming but strange streets. Eric smiled and shrugged. “Reckon I’ll give that a thought,”

“As you wish,” Harry said. “Anyways, guess what? The christening is happening the day after the North London Derby,”

Eric gasped, his mouth dropping. “Get outta here, mate!” 

“In a way, it makes sense,” said Dele. “Get purified after we come in contact with scum,”

“Or,” Eric smirked mischievously. “We might need to get absolved of all the sins we commit that night,”

The three of them broke out in laughter. Dele felt relieved, knowing how close he was to rouse Harry’s suspicion a minute ago, although he was surprised that Harry hadn’t already zeroed in to Dele and Eric’s budding relationship. The three of them had always been a special gang, so naturally, keeping it under wraps from Harry was uncomfortable, if not painful, in its own way. Harry didn’t stay for too long, just for a cuppa that Eric gracefully prepared for his guest. 

Afterwards, Dele sighed in relief, slumping back onto the sofa. “Christ, I don’t ever want to go through that again,”

“What, having coffee with Harry?” Eric remained in the kitchen, his arms stiff on the counter, his chiselled body rigid in the light against the sleek decor of the kitchen.   
“No, lying to H about what we were doing,”

“Oh well, better get used to it, I suppose,” Eric shrugged and opened the fridge. Casually, he got to placing items on the kitchen counter: eggs, pancake mix, milk, and vegetables. Dele felt privileged yet inadequate at having Eric making their breakfast all the time. No doubt Eric actually knew what to do in a kitchen, unlike Dele who could only press a few buttons on the microwave but still, Dele felt bad about his volunteering to make breakfast every day. 

Dele stood up and raced towards the kitchen. “I’m taking you out,”

“Seriously?” Eric froze, squinting at Dele. 

“Yeah. My treat,”

Eric smiled. Just when his morning couldn’t get any better. 

 

The closest diner in the neighbourhood was ten minutes away, so at least, the pair was able to squeeze in a few conversations on their way there. Eric could spot a few paparazzi at the corner of his eyes but he couldn’t bother with maintaining his privacy this very morning. They were two teammates going out for breakfast on a sunny day; the tabloids would have to be overreaching to spin a scandal out of that. 

As asked, they were directed to a corner booth away from the windows at the diner. Dele immediately ordered pancakes while Eric opted for a Spanish omelette and coffee. As the waitress sashayed away, Dele immediately flashed a knowing grin at Eric. Eric wrinkled his eyebrows in confusion; he really did not have the energy to configure Dele’s intricate facial gestures this morning. 

Before Eric could raise his query, Dele flipped out his phone and looked to be taking a photo of Eric. “Stop,” said Eric shyly, looking away from the lens. “So stupid, Dele,”

“Why?” Dele said, his eyes mesmerized by what they were beholding on the phone screen. “You look so perfect I gotta get you on my screen,”

“Mate, if you really want a good photo of me, there are plenty online, taken by professional photographers in the best of settings,”

“But I want a special one,” Dele acknowledged as he set his phone aside. “Where you look a bit slovenly, a bit of stubble, wearing your hoodies, getting breakfast with me,”

Eric blushed. He remember when he used to blush all the time before they had gotten together, when they were merely friends but behaved as they were more, where they lay the possibility of flirtations only to be thwarted by their burgeoning relationships with their respective girlfriends. There was plenty left unsaid in those days, plenty that got lost between glances and smiles. 

Now he didn’t blush as much. Everything was on the table; Dele knew how Eric felt about him and Eric knew how Dele felt about him. Although Eric was very comfortable and immeasurably happy with Dele at the time, every now and then he did long for the implicit flirtations, when they had to rack their brains to infer the other’s gesture.

Their breakfast arrived in ten minutes and Dele began to scarf down his pancakes almost immediately. Eric snorted at Dele and sprinkled pepper into his omelette. But seeing Dele tear at his breakfast with so much ferocity eventually forced a full-fledged guffaw out of Eric. 

“Why you laughing, mate?” asked Dele, gulping down. He thought to take a break and lean back, feeling a bit self-conscious. 

“You wanna build some muscle, is it?”

“I’ve been called pencil legs before. Figured it’d be nice to be one of them ripped blokes on the pitch,”

“But then, you wouldn’t be one of those fast lads, getting cute with your megs and passes,”

“I’ll take that risk,”

Eric smiled and began nibbling into his omelette. Chewing the food, he noted Dele and how magnetized he was by the food. Unusually, it really was a lovely morning in London, so much so that Eric considered extending their date. The misty air was warming up, the spring flowers were blooming through and the excitement of the final third of the season was injecting some energy into everybody’s performance and attitude. 

“Dele?”

“Yeah,” Dele did not look up from his almost-empty plate. 

“You know what H said?” said Eric. 

Dele lifted his eyebrows as an affirmation. 

“I want to live with you,”

The biggest smile emerged on Dele’s face; it shone brighter than any of his prior smiles, which was a significant milestone on its own. He swallowed his food, dabbed the napkin across his lips and grinned silently. Then he extended his right forward and grabbed Eric’s left hand. Eric knew he should probably worrying about trespassing over lookers, or curious patrons but at the moment, all he could think about was Dele’s soft touch and the burst of love hardening in his stomach for boy, or rather, the young man who sat across him. 

They said nothing but holding onto each other during such moments conveyed everything that their broad minds couldn’t possible imagining.


	8. Chapter 8

As soon as he saw Dele go down, Eric could sense trouble. Toby and Kyle had already surrounded the ref, and the players from Crystal Palace flocked in response. A fire of tempers rolled onto the pitch. Eric did not care about the tackle or the bookings at the moment; he raced towards the centre of the commotion. Underneath the clump of players lay his Dele, wincing in pain; his foot bent sideways, his whimpers drowned by the curses over him. 

Eric immediately got to his knees and grabbed Dele’s hand. He comforted his boy as others yelled at each other and the ref. The medical team jogged onto the pitch, yet Eric didn’t let go of Dele. 

“I’m right here, baby,”

“Fuck, Dier,” Dele cried, grasping at his foot. 

The doctors positioned themselves around Dele and got to work. Eric chewed his lip and gazed worriedly at Dele. Once he felt like his physical presence was interfering with the doctor’s procedure, Eric stood up and clomped towards the ensuing chaos. The arguments in favour of Crystal Palace seemed futile, yet the boys kept persisting. Eric stayed quiet initially but as soon as he heard a player say, ‘That fucking poofter was running tricks on the field like...”

His mind commanded him against it but his body, on its own, lunged towards the player as his head thrust against his chest. Although his teammates managed to wrestle him back, the damage had been done. The ref pulled out the red like it was the lightest thing in the world and hung it in the air in the direction of the perpetrator. Eric cursed to himself and began trudging through the pitch, directing his mind to a space devoid of any noise or faces. 

He sucked on the mouth of his water bottle as he waited in the changing room. Even though the TV was muted, Eric could watch and comprehend the events unfolding on the pitch. Dele has been given the go-ahead by the medical team and was now back on the pitch, limping around haplessly. Yet a current of animosity had been unleashed into the air. Tackles and challenges were flying every couple of minutes and a few more cards had been pulled up Dele was eventually substituted, as was appropriate in this case. Eric noted Poch taking his time whispering into Dele’s ear, and Dele nodding solemnly at his instruction. The camera, for the final five minutes of the game, followed Dele extensively. The game eventually ended in a draw 1-1 but Eric knew that his red card was going to be the only highlight going forward. 

A couple of boys returned to the changing room and patted Eric on the back, shook hands with him, offered their wholesome consolations. Dele, as he learnt from Winksy, had stayed back with Poch and the refs. Eric got dressed into his casual clothes, packed up his gear and called Maria. If anyone but Dele could offer him some sweet heed at the moment, it was her. 

“Hallo?” she said in English. 

“Maria,” Eric said. “Can you talk?” he said, switching back to Portuguese. 

“What happened, amour? Why did you suddenly head that boy?” she asked innocently. 

“He was spewing crap about Dele. I couldn’t let that happen,”

“It was not spur of the moment, was it?”

Eric shrugged. “It was, but it also wasn’t. I would do it again if I got the chance,”

“Baby...” she said. “These things happen,”

“I know, I know...” he croaked, feeling the burn within his vision. “But I shouldn’t have lost it. I can’t lose it every time I hear a homophobic slur,” 

“This is the game you know and love. It is your job to protect it from hate,”

“No, no...” He dabbed off the incoming fear off his eyelid. The changing room had cleared out so he was glad that there was no one around to witness his emotional breakdown. “My job is to pass a ball around. I’m not here to make a political statement, I’m not here to beat up bullies, I’m not here to walk hand in hand with the love of my life on the pitch,”

The tears erupted in full force by then. But eventually, he was able to calm himself down enough to have a proper, productive conversation with Maria. She was as impeccable as usual: careful, intuitive, intelligent, bold, understanding, responsive and full of humour when appropriated. 

“Is this what most girls sound like to you guys?” she asked, once Eric fetched himself a roll of tissues from the loo. 

Eric snorted. “I’m such a pansy, aren’t I?”

“You’re just in love. I’m not going to say that being in love makes you weak but it just...makes you more likely to get hurt,”

Eric smiled. They hung up when she realized she had chores to attend to but Eric was fulfilled nonetheless. Yes, there will be questions regarding his assault on the other player, but he won’t be the first or the last player to get involved in on-pitch fracas. They are as innate to the game as the grass and the goalpost. Just as he was about to leave, Dele’s post-match interview flashed up in the screen. Eric unmated the TV and gazed at the boy who stole his heart many years ago. His naive smile, his round nose, his small mouth twitching with words. 

“So Dele, it’s been said that you stayed behind with the refs to talk to them about Crystal Palace’s behaviour on the pitch?”

“Yes, I was notifying them of what had been said and done to me during the game, so they have the resources they need, to act accordingly and enact the proper course of action,”

“Do you believe that the tackle was intentional? Or it was not the tackle that warrants action but the tension that ensued following the tackle? Or was it the threat of the long-term injury?”

“Well, as I got down on the floor, he directed some gross, homophobic slurs and insults at me. I don’t think a physical action would have angered me as such, but being a professional footballer, this is no place for casual homophobia,”

Eric was not only amazed at how carefully and ethically Dele was handling the matter but also at his intelligence and eloquence that was bursting through at the interview. Eric couldn’t be more astounded and proud, not only as his beloved but as a friend, teammate, as a person who knows Dele. 

“What kind of punishment do you think is suited for someone exhibiting this level of discrimination?” asked the interviewer.

“That’s not for me to say. I’m sure the FA has an elaborate, fixed set of procedures as to how to penalize someone for saying homophobic comments. I just thought it was important to me, as a player, as a member of the lgbt community, to speak up and demand equality,” 

Eric wished he could pretend he had misheard what Dele had just admitted but indeed, his ears were set ablaze with the clarity and the enunciation of Dele’s specifically-chosen, resonant words. He dug his fingernail into his thigh as he desperately waited for the interviewer’s response. 

“Um,” The interviewed stammered, as Dele looked at him respectfully. Seemingly, there was no evidence of fear, doubt or shame on Dele’s conveyance; his expression was one of honesty, self-assuredness and seriousness as it had been before. This was not the boy who had cried into Eric’s shoulders following their dreadful loss to Iceland or the boy who hesitated kissing him three months later in the car; this was a man who knew what he wanted and how he was going to achieve it. 

“Um, how do you think a draw in such a game affects the play for the remainder of your title charge?” 

“I think it’s absolutely in the realm of possibility. We did well to recover and even though our attack was perhaps blunt, we made up with...” Dele continued with an intelligent, positive response about the game, as if he did not just become the first active player in professional league football to come out in front of press. 

 

Once the interview was complete, the camera cut back to the pundits in the studio. Even though their stunned faces could not be obscured by the light, they nonetheless smiled and discussed the game. Eric stood up and dashed out of the changing room. It had not occurred to him that in the wake of Dele’s coming-out, he would be the one who would want to get away. 

 

=============================================================================================================

The world of football had been set ablaze by this new revelation. The detractors, the doubters, the activists, the pub-crawlers, the sympathetic sportsmen, the apathetic sportsmen, the amused journalists, the analytical pundits, the supportive managers, the disgusted teammates had all bounded forward in voicing their precious opinions. Dele, meanwhile, had retreated into his house and requested the management of the club to allow him to take a few days off. 

On this particular Wednesday evening, he curled up on his bed and binged on some archaic series of the Simpsons. It made him laugh and for a second, veiled the barrage of attention surrounding him this week. Save for the monosyllabic text to his family to confirm that he was, in fact, alright but not willing to talk, Dele rejected and avoided messages from everyone else. His manager, Tony, informed him on the night of his coming-out that Dele could choose how he wanted to narrate his story, whether he wanted to narrate it at all. 

His phone flashed with a couple of messages from Kyle that Dele was not getting to anytime soon. They sat in his inbox in addition to the messages from Danny, H, Sonny, the Belgian boys. He did not know whether the messages were of solidarity or support, hate or hostility, confusion or chaos but he knew that he did not have the mental capacity to absorb and process them. The force that led him to decide to reveal his orientation in public that night had long left his body; in fact, Dele strongly believed that it was somewhat supernatural or divine, because there was no other way he could muster up the words out his mouth with so much ease and nonchalance. 

He wondered, of course, about the scenarios that could now transpire in his world. Would the media herald him as some kind of an outsider? Would he be known as a gay icon? Would he lose the majority of his fandom? Would Poch sideline him because he is considered a risk on the field? Would his teammates pretend to accept him only to nudge him out of their circle with time? Would he lose his sponsorship deals? Would his adopted family dis-adopt him, if that was even possible? 

His front door sounded and the softness of the footsteps through the hall alerted Dele of the individual in the house. Dele did not glance up at Eric as he stepped into his bedroom. Eric was dressed in a white t-shirt and sweatpants and was holding a plastic bag in his hand. Dele shifted to his left to make room for Eric. Eric twisted his shoes off and slipped into the covers with Dele. Before doing anything else, Eric reached forward to kiss Dele on his cheek. “I got you crisps,” notified Eric, extending the bag forward. 

Dele grinned as he pulled out a few crisps. 

Silently, both of them ate crisps and watched telly in each other’s arms for the next hour or so. Once the third episode concluded, Eric grabbed the remote control from Dele and muted the screen. He moved closer to Dele’s ear and whispered, “I’m the proudest boyfriend in the world at the moment,” 

Dele turned his face and stared down at Eric. It was the first time in the time they had been together that the word ‘boyfriend’ was mentioned at all. It could be because the word itself rendered their relationship official or that it trivialized their relationship which had already been built on a foundation of much stronger ideals, or that it was redundant; they weren’t boyfriends, they were so much more. 

Eric sensed Dele’s amazement and clarified, “I’ve thought of you as my boyfriend for over a year now,”

“We weren’t even together back then,”

Eric began playing with Dele’s curls once his boyfriend rested his head on his chest. “I know, but we were still boyfriends,”  
Dele laughed, perhaps for the first time in a week. He planted a kiss on Eric’s chest and closed his eyes. “What have I done?” he mumbled. 

“Baby,”

Dele looked up in concern. 

“Don’t worry, okay?” Eric assured. “I’ve you and you’ve me. And we’ve crisps,”

Dele stretched upwards for a long, passionate kiss, the kind that sent shivers down his spine, made his toes curl, his chest thump, his heart beat, his mouth wet, his mind rocked. “We’ve crisps,”


	9. Chapter 9

Dele took the next matchday weekend off on the account of his foot injury but even the blindest, most unaware dimwit in a cave wouldn’t buy that excuse. The onslaught of requests from the media and the various football organizations gradually reduced but Dele refused to recover. He refused to speak to his teammates or the Hickfords, he refused to work out or train, he refused to muster up the courage to properly see through his coming-out. 

Eric, being the only person Dele spoke to and confided in, became a conduit between the player and the club. The club had placed on him the duty of convincing Dele to return to training but he did not necessarily see it as a malicious, lucrative agenda designed for Dele’s destruction; instead, Eric could tell how much Dele wanted to bounce up and down the pitch again, skid through his teammates, jump into crowds, feel the adrenaline of their home pitch. After the Southhampton game, which the couple watched in the comfort of their bedroom, Eric finally managed to get Dele to consider returning to training the coming week. It wasn’t too difficult, considering how respectful Dele was of his boyfriend but they knew that Dele being able to play again, as freely as he used to before, was vital not only for their title ambitions but for the LGBT community affiliated with sport. 

That Monday, before Dele arrived in the training ground, Eric snuck out of the flat and drove there early. The team was informed of Dele’s return and wanted to discuss how they would move forward with Dele. The changing room was abuzz with chatter and Eric’s arrival unnerved the boys for a bit. He spotted some balloons in the corner and a cake basket next to Rose’s locker. A rolled-up rainbow flag was hanging in Sonny’s locker. 

“Listen up, boys,” Eric asserted, after which all the boys halted their gossip and looked up in concern at Eric in the centre of the room. “This is a big deal, not only for Dele but for Spurs. Don’t make him feel like an outsider, kill the balloons, kill the pink garbage. It’s just another day on the ground, it’s not a big deal,”

“You just said it is a big deal?” asked Toby. 

“Yes,” Eric agreed, realizing that he was perhaps blowing out more air than wisdom at the moment. “Big deal for the club and history, but it should be a small deal to us. He just wants to play and win. He’s the same guy as he was before,” 

The boys nodded and retreated to their pre-training activities. Dele texted Eric once he parked his car. 

Dele: how is everyone?  
Eric: all good. They miss you.   
Dele: did they talk about me being gay?  
Eric chuckled at the innocuous insecurities bubbling through the text. He replied, “No. Just get your arse in here. We need our golden boy” 

===============================================================

Dele had never felt more terrified. Not when his mother told him that she was going to leave him under the care of the Hickfords’. Not when he was called up for Spurs. Not when he made his England debut under the glittering lights at Wembley. The commentators had described him as a fearless after his sensational first season with Spurs. He was hailed as someone who could endure the rough and brutal elements of the football culture. If he could survive the ruthless streets of Milton Keynes, which brimmed with gangs and illicit opportunities, then he could survive anything. 

As he plodded into the building, he felt his stomach turning. To be fair, he was aware that nothing he could say or do to his teammates at the moment could reverse the words he has so carelessly drivelled out at the interview. The damage, if there was any, had been done and now it was up to him to deal with the consequences. A few of the staff nodded at him as he passed by them but did not bother so much with greeting him. Dele strained his mind to calculate whether their actions denoted their disapproval or was it simply a case of misunderstanding? Was he overreacting? 

The music blared out of the changing room, prickling up the hair on his skin. He could just imagine all the heads turning to his direction, the music accompanied by pitch-silence from the room. Dele could feel the bile surging in his mouth. He had to get through it. If not for himself, for his career. For his ambitions. For the coaches and managers that guided him onto this path. For the friends and families that towed him up and running when he was dangerously close to veering off onto the wrong alleys of his neighbourhood. For Eric. 

His steps skulked into the changing room but all the heads did not turn. Not at once, at least. The boys kept chatting to each other, casting a friendly glance or two at Dele. Immediately, Sonny raced up towards Dele and extended his hand for their elaborate but exhilarating handshake. Dele broke into a smile, as Kevin followed Sonny and widened his arms for a casual hug. 

“Good to have you back,” said Kevin softly. 

“We miss you so much Dele!” added Sonny enthusiastically. 

“Knew Dele was in the building. That horrid deodorant can be smelled from miles,” Harry’s thundery voice caught up to Dele from the corner as he, too, reached into Dele in an embrace. “Good to have you back, mate,”

Dele laughed. Everything was so casually normal and calm that Dele almost forgot that he had not just exposed a crucial part of his identity to the media in a career-jeopardizing move. All the boys approached him with a handshake or a fist-bump, exchanging a few words about what he had missed in the training. 

“See, Coco really made that shot!” said Christian, showing him a video clip of their training adventures. “Didn’t know he could do anything other than a rabona,”

Coco slapped him on the head. “Of course, of course,” he laughed. 

They were all sitting in a huddle, catching up and making jokes. It dawned on Dele that he meant so much to this team, not only in terms of his skill and ability on the pitch but the centre of their camaraderie, around whom all the banter and bonding revolved. He was not only the life of the party, he realized, but the party itself. Eric stood silently at the corner, exchanging encouraging but quick glances at Dele. 

As much as it pained him, Dele refocused on his original course of action. Amidst the chitchat and the bursts of laughter, Dele cleared his throat. “Guys, can we have a word?” he announced. The boys straightened up and looked up at him gravely. Eric shifted away, as if to make room for the rest of the boys, who all gathered around Dele. 

Dele looked at Eric for assurance, which Eric relayed through a prodding but gentle nod. “Okay, I’m sure you all already know what’s...um, what’s being said about me in the press and such,” he sighed and looked at his feet, lest he caught some teammate of his glaring at him with anger or shame. “Um, yes, it is true. I am gay,”

It had been the first time he had uttered those three words. It’s not like they had been stuck in his mouth; it’s simply because those three words did not represent the range of emotions he had been feeling for the last couple of months. They did not describe his relationship with Eric, they did not encapsulate his lack of interest in girls, and they did not relay his identity. But they were the simplest words he could say to hint at something, anything. 

“Hold the phones, grab the papers, ladies, Dele is off the market!” Kyle was the first to respond, and Dele could only be thankful that he went down the route of humour. All the boys burst out into laughter. Dele chuckled shyly and felt embarrassed. 

“So Dele, is it alright to talk about how hot that girlfriend of yours was?” Mousa suggested, to which the boys replied with rejoicing cheers. 

“You arseholes, you all have wives!” Dele accused jokingly.

“You fooled us so well, Dele,” said Jan, shaking his head. “Whole time we thought you were a lady killer,”

“He is!” said Kyle. “It’s just that he’d rather kill the ladies than shag’em,” 

“On a more serious note,” spoke up Harry. “We don’t care who you like, mate. You’ve been our hot player, you’ll always be our hot player. You’re the same person,”

“Although he got bigger balls now, no?” said Christian. “Brave thing you did, mate,” 

Dele smiled. This had already gone well enough without the added gift of compliments. Soon, they were called to training and Sonny proposed a race to the pitch, which Dele obliged, obviously. The others took their time shuffling towards the ground. Eric sucked on his water bottle, relishing in his delight for Dele. 

That’s when Danny came up next to him and smiled. “Couldn’t be happier for the lad,” he said, doing stretches as he walked. 

“Why is that?” asked Eric curiously. 

“PFA Young Player, English sensation, second in the league, our golden boy,” he listed emphatically. “And now he gets to come out with all our support and best wishes. Doesn’t hurt that he’s found love here as well,” 

Eric stopped short and froze, eying Danny in shock. 

Danny snorted and jogged ahead. Eric continued pacing up. “You didn’t think we didn’t know, did you?” 

Eric wrinkled his forehead, his mouth plopping open. 

“You two are the worst kept secret in this team. It’s a shame you weren’t very good at hiding what was going on,”

“We weren’t hiding,” defended Eric, even though his mind had already begun recalling how Dele and he had been interacting in public over the last couple of months. “We were...cautious,” 

“Right,”

 

Dele slid into the formation at training as smoothly as he had hoped. It was not so much his foot injury that had been thwarting his attempts to get back on track but rather an injury of the mind that hampered his rational thinking. In thirty minutes or so, his nutmegs were roaring across the pitch, sending his teammates into a flurry of groans or cheers. Poch kept it as intense as possible, making them all do additional laps and exercises if he felt they weren’t performing to the best of their ability. 

As the teammates started showing signs of exhaustion, Poch commanded that they do stretches for ten minutes, but really, it was just an excuse for Poch to call out Dele from the group. Dele stumbled behind him in apprehension, knowing that having his teammates tease and knock off him was much different than having his boss accept his sexuality. Dele swallowed as Poch halted by the seats, and turned to Dele with a neutral face. 

“How are you?” he asked straight-forwardly. 

“Okay, I guess,” he answered. “A bit overwhelmed,”

Dele knew Poch didn’t understand the word itself but hoped that his tone would convey his feelings, if nothing else. Poch nodded, and said, “I know this is stress and too much tension but you are most important,”

Dele nodded in response, not sure where the conversation was heading. 

“Talk to me whenever you want. Not only your coach, am your friend, your mentor. Very brave, Dele. We are very proud. But will not be easy. You need us,” 

At a distance, Eric was stretching his legs and admiring those of Dele, who was having a chat with the boss. The chiselled legs, the muscles shaped under his tight gear, the twinkling eyes practically aroused Eric on the spot itself but he controlled himself. Once they unlocked the box of sexual adventures, everything Dele did contained within itself the risk of forcing an erection out of Eric. This is exactly the scenario that the people who advise against football players coming out talk about: players getting hard for each other. 

Soon, Dele hopped back to the ground and dropped besides Eric. They were crouched within their own corner, separated from the rest of the group for the time being. “What’d he say?” asked Eric, trying to touch his toes with his fingers. 

“Just that he’s got my back, and all,” said Dele, craning his neck sideways. “Always knew he’d come through,”

“No, you didn’t. You were shaking like a coked-up chav a few hours ago,” reminded Eric, knocking his knuckles against Dele’s shoulders. They watched a few of the players rise up and entertain themselves with a mini game on the pitch, the remaining continuing their stretching. The ball clicked back and forth, holding much of Eric and Dele’s attention. 

“You know, I was thinking...” Eric began, as Dele turned to face him. “Before you and I got together...were we flirting before?”

Dele shrugged and a smile spread across his face. “I didn’t know what I was doing with you. You were my best mate, so I just thought of it as banter, not flirting,”

“But we cuddled. A lot,” said Eric. 

Dele chuckled. “I suppose,”

“You think anyone noticed back then?”

Dele placed his arm around Eric. “Nope, just like how they’re not noticing now,” And he was right, not a single head turned to what was a familiar expression between the two players. 

“So are you telling me that we were dating before knowing that we were dating?” Eric brought up, returning the physical gesture with one of his own: placing his hand on Dele’s thigh. Still, not a single glance was thrown at them. 

Dele raised his eyebrows in amusement as he examined Eric’s touch, which was in no shape or form friendly. “What are you doing, mate?”

Eric leaned closer and directed his blue, soulful eyes at Dele. “You aren’t giving our mates enough credit. They’re pretty smart,”

“Are they?” Dele whispered, slowly descending into the coolness of Eric’s gaze. 

“I think they knew,” admitted Eric, watching Dele’s lips part in desire. “They just chose not to care. Now when I held you in my arms, not when I let you sleep on my shoulders and not when I kissed you in the middle of the pitch in front of everything,”

Dele furrowed his eyebrows and was about to challenge what Eric had just stated before Eric kissed him. It was a soft but long kiss but Dele melted into it like a sugar cube. He circled his arms around Eric as Eric pressed down his hand on his knee. Eric couldn’t even hear the whistles and the claps, he just felt the sensation of freedom bounding into his very core, the freedom of openly expressing love for the man he had been waiting for his entire life. 

“Get a room! You two!” Someone said, but Eric couldn’t bother less. Even the staff had become clapping, with Poch grinning by himself. 

Eric pulled away and stared at Dele, rubbing his thumb against his temple. He took a deep breath. “Maybe they care,” he said. “A little bit,”

“Fucking hell, Dier,” Dele laughed, before he reached forward for another kiss to round off his incredible day.


	10. Chapter 10

Dele dipped his head under and blew bubbles. He thrust his hand forward to touch at Eric’s chest but before he could feel the skin, his body was throttled against the water, causing him to kick and wrestle his way back up. 

“Dier!” he cried, sweeping his hand across his face, shaking off the fright. “Not cool,”

Eric laughed and floated closer to Dele. “Is Delboy mad?” he said mockingly. 

Dele shook his head. “Idiot,” he spit, repressing a grin. He turned around and began swimming to the other corner of the pool before Eric enveloped his body from the back in a tight embrace. 

“Where’re you going?” Eric whined, popping a kiss on the back of Dele’s neck. “Don’t you want some of this?” He said, as he placed his hand inside Dele’s boxer shorts. “Or this?”   
He laid his other hand on Dele’s left nipple. “Can’t I tempt you in any way?” he asked, as he extended his puckered lips towards Dele’s neck and blew. 

Dele wedged himself out of Eric’s grasp and turned around. “You cannot be that horny right now. We just did that...”

“Incoming, lads!” Mousa shouted as he lunged into the water. Dele drew back and flinched against the splash as Eric chased Mousa to the left. Following Mousa, Jan and Christian jumped into the water, effectively killing the sensual vibe that Eric and Dele were building to. 

“Did we destroy your moment?” asked Christian, smirking. “It was Mouse’s idea. We said, no let the lovebirds have their fun,”

“Then I said that we swim in this pool. We can’t let it get spoilt,” added Jan. 

Dele blushed and shook his head in disbelief. “You monsters. We would never....”

“La la la,” Jan pressed his palms against his ears and vigorously rocked his head. Jan drifted towards the centre of the pool, where Eric and Mousa had begun tossing a ball around.   
Christian lingered about, swimming circles around Dele. “You guys are cool with it, right?” asked Dele hesitantly. “Like, Dier and me?” Dele turned his gaze towards his boyfriend. 

“No, I think both of you should be banned from football, sent to jail and die by choking,” Christian chuckled. “Of course, we cool. It’s not like we didn’t know about this,”

Dele raised his eyebrows. “You knew about this?”

“We didn’t know, I guess,” he clarified. “But we weren’t too surprised. But...” Christian lowered his voice. “When did you both...um...” His words faded from his mouth and were instead conveyed through the systematic pointing of his eyebrows. 

Dele laughed. “Serious?”

Christian grinned but said nothing. 

Dele sighed and floated to the edge of the pool, as Christian followed him. The boys on the far end had become louder, having formed a triangle for their game. Dele hoisted himself up to the tiles and took a seat on the ground, his legs splayed under water. “After we lost to Iceland, I went to his room, we were emotional...and then...he kissed me,”

Christian’s jaw dropped. “Serious?”

Dele nodded. “Yeah, but we decided to drop it and...”

The story flowed out of him like silk. Christian leant on the edge of the pool and listened to the tale of their relationship with an intent expression. His eyes were gleaming by the end of it and he was speechless. “Chris?” asked Dele, once he finished. Christian smiled wondrously at the water. “I thought you wanted to hear it,” added Dele defensively.   
“It’s amazing,” he said, dumbfounded. “It’s just...it’s hard to believe that two of my mates have been...together for four months,”

“Six months, actually,”

Christian raised an eyebrow knowingly. 

“It’s the night we won 3-2 against West Ham, so naturally I...I would remember the date...” rambled Dele nervously. 

“Your anniversary is coming up, isn’t it?” said Chris as he swam back and forth down the width of the pool. 

“Yeah,” said Dele as he shot a glance at Eric boisterously darting at the other end of the pool. His sight automatically triggered a series of sensations in Dele’s stomach as his chest was struck with yet another nerve. 

“No plans?”

“I haven’t thought of anything, yet. I would love to take him out to a romantic place, take a lovely walk by the park, do all that crap. But...we can’t risk it,”

“Keeping secrets won’t help, Dele. It never works out,” he said. “I know there is lot of pressure...”

“I just came out, Chris. I can’t force Eric to do the same,”

Christian shrugged. “Might as well get over it, so the same attention is not repeated in the future,” 

Dele shook his head, as if Chris had just uttered the most preposterous suggestion ever. Dele continued gazing at the boys playing at the other end, his eyes naturally flicking over at his boyfriend. How giddy he got when he took the shot. How he did his dance when he succeeded. How he crumbled in a string of laughs when the shot was taken to him. He couldn’t be more pure. Before, getting to spend time with Eric at the training ground felt like a privilege or a gift, something he wouldn’t have the pleasure of at home, but now it was different. He glowed in satisfaction from knowing that he could visit him any time, sleep over any time and tell him how he feels anytime. He wasn’t in a rush to be with Eric; he knew that he was the only one Eric would go back to at the end of the long day. There was patience, there was satisfaction and there was relief in being in love. 

 

The fuzzy noise of the telly blinked in the background. Eric shut the windows, drew the curtains and softly climbed onto the bed. Dele was scrolling through his phone quietly, his eyes seething in fixation on the content in his phone. Eric turned off the main lights in the room and lit the lamp on the side of the bed. 

“You’ve got to stop reading Twitter,” instructed Eric, grabbing his bottle of lotion from the table. 

“I’m not,” said Dele impassively, his face relaying the opposite. His fingers tapped compulsively across his phone, his eyes darting through the plethora of tweets and messages.   
“You know, they’d have been saying shit about us either way. There’s no way we can please everyone,” Eric poured a clump of lotion onto his palm and began rubbing his legs.

“I don’t care, I’m just interested,” admitted Dele, placing his phone between their respective pillows. “You know, for every hateful scum out there, there are three or four messages of absolutely love and support,”

Eric smiled. “Why wouldn’t there be? You’re a hero for so many people,”

Dele shrugged, as he leaned against the headboard, his head slanting towards Eric’s shoulder. “I was thinking...” he shared. “What if I take Lineker up on the interview?”

Eric wiped the remainder of his cream on Dele’s arms and set the bottle aside. “Absolutely. I’m surprised that wasn’t the first thing you considered doing,”

“It’s just a lot of attention. I’m not the best at talking about myself,”

“He’s super nice, though, innit? Plus, you’re the toughest, most assured son of a bitch out there. I’m sure you’ll nail it,” 

Dele smiled against Eric’s arm. Eric looked down at Dele gently and leaned to kiss him. It was brief and Dele straightened up. “You’re the sweetest, you know?” he said, turning his phone back on. He switched on the front camera and held it up before their faces. Eric didn’t even have to think twice; immediately, he settled into romantic positions with Dele, kissing him on the cheek, on the nose, on the forehead as the capture button sounded in succession. Then they took a couple of snaps of the two of them kissing, cuddling or just randomly smiling at the camera. 

“I do need a new wallpaper,” said Dele, reviewing the photos.

“Yeah?” Eric laughed. “Your lame goal celebrations not cutting it anymore?”

Dele shook his head, knocking Eric on the stomach. 

“You should send them over to me,” said Eric. “It’d only make sense to have the same wallpaper, right?”

Eric turned off the lamp and pulled the blanket over his and Dele’s body. The two kissed each other goodnight and laid into their respective positions. As per usual, Dele and he cuddled for the first five minutes before Dele eventually got too sleepy to cuddle, so he turned around to properly sleep at his own comfort. Eric always made sure that Dele was asleep before he even thought about letting himself fall asleep.


	11. Chapter 11

It was quiet in the room. There was an entire camera set a few feet away from his face but he could hardly feel the mild buzz marking the rolling lens. His microphone was softly clipped against the fabric of his shirt. He was instructed to switch off his phone as the make-up artist was touching him up with last-minute concealer. 

Finally, when Gary Lineker spoke, Dele felt as relaxed as he could under those circumstances. “Dele, first of all, I want to thank you for being here. We all know that Spurs are working hard right now, sealing up the 2nd place and making progress in Europa and the Cup, so it does mean a lot to Sky to have you with us today,”

Dele smiled and nodded. “Pleasure to be here,”

“Now,” Gary began. “We’re here to talk about Tottenham Hotspur’s season as a whole, the highs, the lows, all that jazz. But...” he paused suggestively. “We can spend a few minutes talking about your coming-out and how it affects, or doesn’t affect, your season. Obviously, I must start by asking what caused you to reveal your sexuality?” 

Dele cleared his throat before speaking. “It was...an unpleasant experience on the pitch. I had only recently begun to accept my own sexuality and began noting the prevalence of homophobic slurs in the game and especially on the pitch. This particular incident left me upset so I talked over with the refs and when I was being interviewed by the press, I felt like it was important to let people know, not only how I feel about conduct with regard with homophobia but why I feel it,” 

“You mention that you only recently became aware of your sexuality,” replied Lineker. Dele’s thoughts shifted to the Spurs training ground and Eric hopping around the cones, laughing with Chris and H; it’s the only image that comforted him yet impelled him onto a path of strength. “So I’m guessing it wasn’t something that affected your upbringing and your rise through the ranks in football?”

“Sexuality is a tricky thing, especially for teenagers. Though I was probably vaguely aware of my attraction towards boys, I attributed it to admiration or a need to achieve. We are raised in a culture that emphasizes an arbitrary lifestyle all boys and girls must adhere to. I had no examples, no models, no framework for how I could be gay and play football at the same time,” explained Dele calmly. “Which is perhaps why I am the first active football player in the league to come out; it is incredibly scary and I have no idea where and how I go forward,”

“Well, from everybody at SkySports, we wish you all the love and support; you must know the amount of guts it requires to reveal something like this. How has the atmosphere been like in the team, with the manager and the fellow players? I can’t imagine they couldn’t anything but utterly supportive and warm,”

Dele smiled. “Yes, the lads tease me a bit from time to time but they have made it clear that they are proud of me and will continue to support me as I figure out the rest of my career. Obviously, our main goal is to finish the season strong, play every game as best as we can...”

=========================================================================================================

“You’ve lost your spark, Eric,” said Eddie, punching on the keys in the controller. On the screen, he swiped the ball off Eric’ team and hurtled forward. Eric turned on his heel to chase him and flew for a challenge but Eddie simply lobbed him off and passed the ball to another player. 

“Bullshit,” protested Eric as he rallied his players to overcrowd the midfielder on the other team. 

“You were acing this game before; now you’re just...a shadow...”

Eric knocked his brother on the head. “Haven’t had the time is all,”

“Oh yeah! Now you’ve got Dele Alli living with you. How’s he for a flatmate?”

Eric grinned and thumped down on the controller, directing all his attention on the FIFA game at the front. “He’s alright,” 

“Just alright?” Eddie smirked. 

Eric reached into the bowl of crisps. “Yeah, it’s good,”

Eddie chuckled. The Dier family had not been told that Eric was possibly gay and dating his teammate and it irked Eric to have to lie so he tried to best to stray away from discussions about his relationships or Dele in general. Even though Eric avoided eye contact with his brother, he could sense Eddie’s inquisitive gaze in his periphery. He resumed the game and immediately soared down the flanks with the ball. 

“Oye, mate!” yelled Eddie, staggered by Eric’s reanimated energy. 

“You snooze, you lose, idiot!” laughed Eric as he dribbled past the haphazard defenders and shot into goal. 

“Fuck!” Eddie shouted into the screen. 

Eric celebrated by doing a short dance in place. Eddie leaned back and slumped down the sofa, his chin tight, his head shaking. Thankfully, his misery was disrupted by the front door opening and much to Eric’s uneasiness, Dele sauntered in.“Oh, hey!” Dele’s face betrayed his surprise. His eyes widened, he lumbered into the living room, holding two white plastic bags in his head. “You alright?” he greeted Eddie with a casual nod. 

“Lovely and you, mate?”

Dele grinned. “Pretty awesome. Don’t know if you like Vietnamese but I got...”

“He likes everything,” Eric stood up to accompany Dele to the kitchen to unload the bags. Eric glared at Dele apologetically at the kitchen before pulling out a few plates and cutlery from the shelf. 

“So how is sch...uni?” asked Dele, his voice loud enough for Eddie to hear. 

“Uni actually,” replied Eddie from the sofa. “A few towns south of London. Real shitpile, that,”

Dele chortled, patting the vegetables down into a casserole. “Uni is a gift, remember that,”

“You tell me you’d have preferred to go and sit through classes in organic chemistry?” asked Eddie, his eyebrow raised in challenge. 

“If I was smart enough, yeah,” answered Dele. 

Thankfully, the two got along well enough that Eric did not have to cut in during spots of silence. Once they had set the table, the three of them courteously placed themselves around the dining table and began digging into the food. Unfortunately or in Eric’s case, fortunately Eddie dropped into silence during eating, as he so often did, so the table was shadowed by quiet yet again. Dele and Eric kept exchanging looks, of confusion, of confirmation, of passion, of satisfaction, of all the feelings they felt but did not want to convey through words. Eric knew that Dele had just given a significant interview to Gary Lineker and was probably bubbling with feelings and observations that he couldn’t wait to share with Eric, so he was all the more grateful that Dele was in an amenable, friendly mood this very afternoon. 

“So what brings you to town?” asked Dele, as he chewed his rice. 

“Franny’s 25th birthday,”

“My older sister,” added Eric. 

“We’re having a small dinner and party. You should come!” urged Eddie, biting off his pork. 

Eric immediately panicked. “Oh, I’m sure Dele has...”

“I mean, if you have anything better to do, then sure. But if you don’t, why not? Rachel and Adam are going to be there,”

Eric swallowed. Rachel and Adam were the respective partners of Eric’s siblings and Eddie had just placed them in the same group as Dele. No big deal. Nothing wrong here. Eric gulped down half the water in his glass and set to pour more. 

“If Eric’s okay with it,” responded Dele, motioning at Eric with his head. 

Eric calmly looked up. “Of course. We’d love to have you there,”

Eddie agreed and continued eating noisily. Eric grinned at Dele knowingly before they moved onto other topics. The rest of the meal was similarly casual as Dele found out that Eddie was much more amusing than Eric had initially spoken of him. What impressed Dele the most about Eddie was that despite his brother’s glamorous career that afforded him many exclusive opportunities, he simply wanted to explore town by himself, form his own experiences, create his own stories, make his own mistakes. Plus they shared their mutual annoyance for Eric’s most peculiar habits. Eric shook his head and grunted when Dele and Eddie began laughing over how he gets with placing boots by the door.   
“Like who gives a fuck? Your floor is going to dry up in minutes,”

“And not like it’s going to stain on the rug. A bit of water does nothing!” Dele added as he smirked at Eric. 

“Okay, enough, you two! Don’t make me pull the rug off your secrets,” warned Eric, feeling himself to be quite clever. 

“As if. The only reason you’d ever pull the rug off is if you were cleaning it,” said Dele. 

“Oh shit!” echoed Eddie, his lips rounding in surprise of Dele’s jesting. 

Soon enough, much to Eric’s relief, Eddie took off afterwards. As he was only in town for a few days, he had already lined up an agenda of activities for himself and his friends across town. Eric saw his brother off downstairs and raced back up the stairs. Upon entering his flat, he stopped short in his track to marvel at Dele collecting the dishes and placing them in the sink. Dele of a year ago would not have displayed this level of household responsibility and it stunned Dele that that their living together may have caused him to be more conscious of his chores. 

“What you staring at, mate?” asked Dele as he turned on the tap. 

Eric strolled to the kitchen and leaned against one of the cabinets, from where he was able to get the best purview of Dele’s rear. “At the moment, your arse,”

“Wanker,” Dele hissed in response, rubbing down the plates with the sponge. 

“Del, you’re not doing dishes now, are you?” Eric asked, springing to grab his boyfriend from behind. He slithered his arms between Dele’s and turned off the tap. 

Dele shook his head as he turned around. “Would you rather we let all the dirt..”

“Shut up,” Eric circled his arms around Dele’s shoulders and moved him to the counter beside. “How was the interview?”

Dele looked away and smiled. “Decent. He was respectful, friendly and very professional. We didn’t even talk much about being gay,”

“You know that’s what going to be on the headline of the interview, though. Young midfielder narrates his glamorous coming out adventure tale,” posited Eric.   
Dele hoisted himself up on the counter with Eric’s help and began threading his fingers through Eric’s shirt. “Not much of an adventure, though. Pretty cut and dry; I fell in love with a guy, I came out...”

“Aah, I see,” Eric smirked. “My order would be: I fell in love with a guy, I came,”

Dele broke out in laughter, his head lowered in self-consciousness. He spread his legs apart as far as he could to make space for Eric to step in and pulled his head closer. “Mate, you’re gonna tell me if you don’t want me at your family shindig, right?”

“Of course I want you,” He lowered his eyes. “But I also don’t think I’m ready for a direct, vocal speech about who I like. They’re still reeling from Maria,”

“We don’t have to worry about it,” assured Dele, as he kissed Eric on the cheek. “We can just go there as two mates. Your best mate from the club accompanying you at the dinner. Nothing wrong with that,” decided Dele with a content expression on his face, his cheeks popping with the dimples that first caught Eric’s fancy a few years ago. 

Eric gazed into those features, absorbing the beauty that stirred before him in all its innocent but steadfast glory. “You’re such a sweetheart, you know?” said Eric, stroking his thumb against Dele’s hairline. 

Dele smiled shyly. “Stop,” he whispered. 

“No, let me. I didn’t know anyone in this world could be so perfect,”

“You clearly haven’t seen me dive then,” Dele reminded. 

“I was talking about myself,” 

Dele hit Eric on the chest. “Arsehole,”

Eric pushed forward to kiss Dele, a passionate, enduring kiss that knocked the daylights out of Dele and reduced him to a puddle of feeling as he rested his head against the shelf, his body lightening against the fiery touch of Eric. It pained Dele to raise his voice and pull away. “We can’t, now. I’m too tired,”

Eric shook his head. “I thought you were young. Full of life and energy,”

“Well, Poch did say I have to grow up and get straight,”

Eric stared mischievously. “Straight, you say?”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dele's night with Diers.

“Okay, so Franny is the birthday girl. She works as an attorney at a law firm and her boyfriend is Jacob, who works as a legal assistant to a judge in West London. Paddy is nineteen and is studying music production, has a band named...”

“Dele,” Eric stopped him, chuckling at his boyfriend’s preparations. “You don’t need to memorize their life. Just relax and they will tell you about it themselves,”

“I just don’t want to mess it up,” said Dele, slouching and turning his head away towards the window. 

Eric found it difficult to keep his eyes on the road when Dele looked so gorgeous beside him. Though Eric insisted that Dele was at liberty to dress however he wanted, Dele preferred to adorn himself in a formal piece: a white and light blue chequered shirt, a pair of dark blue jeans and black shoes. He looked like an IT guy rather than a glamorous football player but Eric was still captivated by his boyfriend demonstrating yet another dazzling, different look. Dele wanted to impress and he believed that also included cramming massive amounts of information about the Dier family, which Eric also emphasized wasn’t important but that did not stop him from compulsively parsing through Eric’s social media and the internet to gather stories and traits of all the Dier siblings.

“Would you just relax?” Eric put his hand on Dele’s trembling knee. “We don’t care if you show up in sunglasses or shorts. We just want to have a good time,” 

Thankfully, or in Dele’s case, embarrassingly, the party was already in full swing by the time they arrived. Once they entered inside, they also realized that it wasn’t so much a raucous, uncontrollable party of flashing lights and EDM music but a relaxed dinner. It was held at Franny’s flat and the dim-lit atmosphere lent it a casual yet intoxicating tone. Around twenty people could be seen flitting through the living room. 

“Eric!” Eric’s youngest sister, Daisy, yelled as she spotted them wandering by the front door. “Just cos you’re famous, you’re allowed to be late now?”

Eric embraced her and stepped back to gesture at Dele. “You haven’t met but I’m sure you know who this guy is,”

Dele smiled and tried to wave but she just floated forward and tugged him in for a hug. “No introductions needed. How are we worthy of being able to touch the hottest man in London right now,”

“England I’d say!” Eric’s other brother, Paddy, strode forward and shook hands with Dele. A few other people, mostly Eric’s siblings and their significant others crowded around Eric and Dele, greeting, laughing, teasing. Much to Dele’s relief, their jesting at his fame halted after the first five minutes once he’d become acquainted with everyone. Eric grabbed glasses of wine for both he and Dele and sat down on the sofa. 

“Congratulations on your season by the way!” said Daisy ecstatically, plopping down next to Dele. “You’re at, what, twenty goals?”

Dele shook his head and laughed. “Just fifteen,”

“For a midfielder? I’m told that’s amazing,” she said. “I’m not the best at football, I’ll be honest. Eric thinks I don’t go to the games because I spend all my time studying but really, I don’t understand what’s so special about a damn ball being passed,”

“When all your siblings are crazy about it...I guess sometimes it makes sense to be sick of it,” replied Dele, taking a sip out of his glass. 

“Really? That only makes sense in hindsight, though. Like I was raised the same way as all the others, with the same values and principles, so whatever factor that instilled their love of the game should have worked on me as well...” she said. “I’m just trying to think of it on a psychological level...”

“That’s what you’re studying, I’m guessing?”

“Close! I’m doing genetics actually,”

“Is that the one with the boxes?”

“Boxes?” Daisy repeated, her brows crinkling, entertained. “Oh Dele, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” 

Eric exchanged a glance with Dele that relayed how pleased he was of Dele’s smooth conversation with Daisy and once he sensed that Dele had gotten comfortable on his own, he stood up and began mingling with some of the other guests at the dinner. Daisy was a voracious speaker; not only was she brimming with a multitude of discussion starters, she was also a careful and emphatic listener. She awarded Dele with plenty of space and time to be able to respond as he’d like. Within fifteen minutes, Dele had already filled her in on his eventful an oftentimes disturbing childhood at Milton Keynes. 

“It’s a miracle I escaped the gangs up there. I had friends who ran with them every day and tried to invite me to enough joints to try to get me to selling but...football is what kept me away,”

“That’s amazing,” said Daisy, her drink in hand forgotten, her eyes enchanted by the power of Dele’s story. “So many players use football as their ticket out of poverty and misery. With Eric, it was just...it was just because he was a lonely kid who wanted to fit in. But you...you’ve achieved a lot, Dele,”

Dele shook his head and placed his glass on the coffee table. “Don’t flatter me like that. It sounds rough but I had as dumb a upbringing as anyone. Dressed up in tacky bling, wore the most hideous clothes, danced like I thought I was the man...”

“Oh, you definitely are the man!” Paddy slid down next to Dele, causing Dele and Daisy to shift over to make room. “Is it a shame to turn down all the ladies?”

Dele laughed shyly. “Surprisingly, the ladies don’t flock to me anymore,”

“Oye that’s a shame,” He offered him a plate of chicken bites but Dele just passed it over to Daisy, who grabbed a couple. “At least you’ll be saving a bunch of money on buying them presents and trips to Milan,”

Dele forgot how terrified he had been an hour ago, sweating over how Eric’s siblings would react to his alien presence. As he leaned back and ebbed and flowed through the most natural, casual, occasionally fascinating and endlessly entertaining conversations with Daisy and Paddy. Once they’d had enough of him, they were replaced by a comparatively older woman with a baby in her arms. 

“Dele!” She said, as he got up to greet her. She kissed him on either cheek and took a seat next to him. “I’ve heard so much about you. A bit overwhelming to see you in person!” Her baby had its hand out to grab a fistful of her hair but she waived it away. 

“You must be...Stephanie?”

“Steffi, please. If it isn’t too confusing for you,”

“I’m trying my best. Six Diers is a lot,” teased Dele, regaining an element of light-hearted confidence he had lacked all evening. “And who’s this bundle of...”

“Meu coração!” An ecstatic voice sounded their way and Dele’s eyes widened at Eric surging forward. Eric immediately picked up the baby and rubbed their noses together. 

Steffi laughed as she watched her young brother nuzzle with her baby. “That’s not her name, by the way,” she told Dele. “It’s Millie,” 

Steffi was about to add something else but she was called out by someone at the kitchen, so she turned to Dele and sighed. “Looks like I’m needed. See you around, Dele,” She said, as she patted him on the knee and left. Eric took her place but his attention was completely occupied with the little baby fiddling around on his lap. 

“Você é meu anjinho, não é? Meu amor, meu amor!” He sang to the little girl who laughed at his chants.

Dele stared at the two of them in astonishment, unaware of the measure of love that bubbled within him for Eric right this moment. Though he did not understand the words that flowed out of Eric’s mouth, the emotion was visibly swaying through his face. 

“Isn’t she adorable?” said Dele awkwardly. 

Eric laughed as he leaned back and let Millie jump on his knees. “Do you want to hold her?”

“I...dunno. It’s very...”

“No, go on. You’ll be fine. She is the most well-behaved girl I’ve ever met,” he bounced her and she tumbled onto his chest. “Não é correto, linda?” 

Dele pursed his lips puzzlingly as Eric placed her in his lap. Dele placed his hands on either side of her body and stared down at her in bemusement. The little girl extended her palms to Dele’s face. 

“It’s a baby, Del, not a sitter, you can’t mess it up,”

Dele froze; he did not think Eric was capable of landing such a brutal insult whilst he was being cuddling with his niece. Eric gauged his reaction, his mouth spread in an anticipative smile. Millie crawled on Dele’s lap as Eric played with her hands. “Millie, don’t be scared of him. He just doesn’t get how cute you are,” said Eric, contorting his voice to that which people use when they talk to babies. 

“I do, too!”

Eric shifted closer to Dele and ran his hand down her hair. As he was staring at Eric making funny faces at Millie, he was struck with a powerful jolt in his heart. He couldn’t really describe the emotion that was beginning to perforate through his body but at that moment, his perspective of Eric underwent another change, another filter that bound them together, that brought him closer to exploring yet another layer of Eric. 

“You’re great at this,” commented Dele, glinting at Eric with utmost admiration. “I mean...you’re just...”

“Eric!” 

The two looked up at their right, where Steffi and an older, short-haired plump woman waved at them. Eric seemingly got the hint and turned to Dele. “I’ll be a minute. You cool with Millie?”

“Um,” Dele stammered as Mille tugged on his shirt. “I...”

“You’ll be great,” He assured, as he patted Dele on the shoulder. 

Eric sauntered across the hall to Steffi and Mum, who were munching on spring rolls by the table. They giggled as he began pouring whiskey into his glass. “What’s going on?” he asked casually. 

Steffi placed her elbow on his shoulder. “I was just telling Mum how adorable Dele is with Millie,” 

Eric shook his head in disappointment. “Poor lad is terrified of messing it up,”

“You’ll be a good teacher, won’t you, Eric?” His mum laughed. Eric turned around and leaned against the arm of the sofa, drinking quietly from his glass. The whiskey blazing through his throat, he watched Dele navigate a boisterous baby clamber around his body. He too couldn’t help but find it adorable. 

“He’s a really good guy, I was just telling Mum,” Steffi informed, resting her head against the sofa. 

Mum concurred, “Seems like it, too. What a sweet boy you’ve found for yourself,”

Eric wrinkled his forehead as he jammed down some more whiskey. Though they were saying customary positive things about Dele, something about their tone hinted of innuendo or mischief, as if they were withholding more than what they let on. Perhaps the alcohol was cracking through Eric’s skull and endangering his restrained, rational thought, but he genuinely wanted to know. “Do you guys....think that Dele and I...”

Steffi and Mum exchanged a series of exhilarated and knowing glances. Mum placed her palm against Eric’s reddening cheek. “Eric, I’ve six kids over the age of 18. I’ve seen and been through it all. Did not doubt even for a second that you liked this boy more than you did Maria, or more than you would any other boy,” 

Eric went numb before he could construct a response. 

“Besides,” spoke Steffi. “When you’ve got six children, it’s not too much of a stretch that one of them is not completely straight. At least now I can gift you rainbow flags without it being totally weird,” 

His thoughts were flying away from him with the onrush of the burning whiskey but as he sat between his approving mother and sister, watched Dele play precious with his niece and his family mingling with each other casually across the softly-lit hall, he realized that he didn’t need to make a speech about coming out. Everything in the world had already been done for him, he just had to slow down and absorb them one second at a time.


	13. Chapter 13

To say the crowd at Sweden was anything like the exuberant crowd at White Hart Lane would be a leap of faith yet the crowd spun up in thunder as potently as it would in their home ground. They had already taken a guard of honour at their last game at White Hart Lane but a lap of victory with the Europa League trophy in their hands connoted a celebration of elevated energy and intention.

“Cheese it up!” instructed Kyle as he clicked a photo of Dele and Winksy.

Eric danced with Danny and the away fans a couple of feet away. The stadium was blaring out the latest pop hit through its booming speakers yet the contagious, electric chants sung by the away fans were the only thing that rang through his ears. He did not care how ridiculous he looked tapping his feet and shaking his feet; the beat just sizzled through him automatically, inhabiting all his locomotive functions.

Toby and Jane skipped over to the dance and did their own rousing chants before Toby picked up Winksy and shook him in the air. More flashes, more songs, more shouting and Eric did not want to know the amount and speed of blood that coursed through his veins at the moment. If he was told at the beginning of the season that they would be winning the Europa League, he would have been disappointed to say the least but holding the trophy in his hands and being able to yell through the streets at the decibel levels of what champions are allowed felt successful nonetheless. Yes, they did not win the league neither could they really succeed in the Champions League but coming second in the league and beating the likes of United, City, Liverpool and most importantly, Arsenal sent a shot of triumph through their performance.

“We fucking did it, E!” Mousa bound forward and attempted to pick up Eric but realized that that was a tougher feat than it looked. “Can you believe it?” He snaked his hand around Eric’s neck as they continued ambling through their lap. Confetti flying through the air, crackers going at the roof, the away crowd making this Swedish town their cave---all this felt surreal.

“I don’t think I’ll ever recover,”

“You don’t need. You can spend the whole summer sleeping or drinking in Vegas and you will still feel the same,” replied Mousa.

Once they completed their lap of victory, they gathered at the centre of the pitch to pick up Poch. They threw him in the air ten or fifteen times before Hugo pointed out that Poch looked exhausted and that they should halt this activity. So the boys then proceeded to heave Hugo in the air. They took about a billion photos before Eric stopped caring about them. Those photos would be immortalized anyways through the internet yet the rousing, unbreakable spirit that encompassed rational thought at the moment would be irreplaceable. Amidst the celebrations, the crazy song and dance, the glitter and the lights, Eric stumbled into Dele.  

They had already embraced as a group when Dele scored the winning goal but Eric couldn’t help but pushed into Dele for a personalized, tender hug. As he slid into Dele’s arms, he placed his lips against Dele’s neck. Once he pulled out, he knew very well the gravity of what he was doing and the potential consequences that he could setting into motion but the love he held for Dele could not mask under hidden glances and subtle gestures anymore.

He kissed Dele in front of the millions beholding them live and through screen. It was reasonably inconspicuous as well: the noise continued, the lights kept flashing, the silly string kept pouring. Nothing had changed at all and that itself made Eric feel better about his decision.

“You might regret that, Dier,” But Dele had no sign of malice in his voice; instead, he was smiling lightly.

“We shall see,”

The two, hand in hand, joined the rest of the group posing for photos with the official Spurs media team. Harry granted them a smile of encouragement for what they just did but all in all, the boys did not care. They had known for months and now they were simply free of a secret they shouldn’t have had to keep in any case.

“I knew we had it in us,” said Danny, shuffling between the two. “The thing about potential is that...it can’t stay locked in a bottle a long time, it’s gotta...”’

“Hold up,” said Son, who wrestled into the huddle. “Did you say bottle?”

Eric laughed. “In a good way, Sonny. Right?”

Danny shrugged. “Might as well get the bottle jokes out of the way,”

Eric shook his head. It would be pleasant, finally, to wake up to headlines that favoured Spurs than the usual shaming. That the world would finally get to view the boys as winners rather than chokers, as boys who were able to capitalize their young talent, as boys who were able to beat the so-called men of Manchester and Rome to reach where they did today. He also wouldn’t mind seeing Dele on the front page but now he dreaded the headlines that would perceive their kiss as tabloid fodder but hopefully it would simply fade and dissolve within the momentum of their victory.

Once their two-hour romp across the stadium was coming to a conclusion, Eric told Dele that he was in no mood to party in their sleepy hotel. It would simply have to wait till the summer where they could jet off to any island or club and dance and drink till it was five in the morning and anyone who could recognize them would be knocked off their rocks. Dele agreed and followed Eric back to his hotel room.

“Don’t tell me you’re just going to sleep, Dier,” said Dele as he leaned against the wall.

Eric tapped his card across the sensors and his door clicked open. The soft yellow lights by the bed had turned the room sensual yet relaxed. Since this was Eric, the room was in impeccable condition: the bed made, his items in order on the shelves, his suitcase shut and cornered, the windows open just the right amount to let the cold, sweet hair fill inside.

“I might call Maria, maybe Mum...let them know that I’m okay and didn’t get mobbed by the away fans,”

Dele dropped down the bed, at once undoing the smoothness in which it had been set. Eric sighed but let it go, nothing was worth ragging at Dele tonight. “I’m gonna take a shower, then,”

Dele took the longest shower in memory while Eric phoned his siblings, parents and Maria. They chatted for what felt like hours but really, Eric was ready to hang up as soon as Dele emerged from the shower. Maria expressed her congratulations and commended Dele for what an impactful performance he displayed on the pitch. From the cheeky nutmegs to the timely dives, to the slick passes to the mighty header he sent down against the team that won them the cup, Dele was not only the man of the match but man of Eric’s dreams, justifiably. Franny promised Eric that she would treat the pair of them to a homemade dinner of authentic Japanese food she had learnt to make during her most recent trip. Paddy let him know that he had a tenner on Dele scoring and that he would probably buy his girlfriend an expensive spa night on his profits. His Mum was the only one who wasn’t absolutely raving about Dele and actually spent a few minutes praising her son for his solid defensive work during the game. He might not get the obvious applauds but he would surely always be number one in his mother’s rankings.

By the time a shirtless Dele sashayed out of the bathroom, Eric couldn’t be gladder to blink off his phone and set it aside. Dele changed into his boxers as Eric wrapped his conversation with his mother. “Okay, Mum, I gotta...”

“Hello, Mrs. Dier!” piped in Dele, enticing Mrs. Dier so much that she asked to speak with him herself.

So then Dele and Mrs. Dier proceeded to have their own conversation. Eric rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the muted television. He relished the highlights of the game, especially Dele’s 84th minute header they would be playing on the channels for weeks, maybe months to come.

“Alright, we’ll get the pina colada next Thursday, then. Absolutely, no worries....of course, thank you...I mean...he’s very... I know,” Finally he hung up the phone and chuckled. “I love that woman,”

“I think you love anyone who pays you half a compliment,”

Dele laughed as he crawled into bed next to Eric. “Then why do I love you, huh?” he said, before wrapping his legs around Eric’s waist and reaching over for an ardent kiss.

They kissed slowly for a couple more minutes before Dele burrowed his lips into Eric’s neck. Eric ran his hand up Dele’s bare back as he felt the touch of Dele’s wet and excited lips slid down his lower neck into chest. Dele stretched up to kiss Eric on the lips again but this time, his breathing had become heavier, his face redder. Short moans began to escape his mouth as Eric turned him flat on the pillow and straddled him. Dele gripped the back of Eric’s head as he trailed a line of kisses down his body. Not only could Eric feel his cock hardening, he knew as a certainty that Dele was straining to be touched as well. Eric licked down at Dele’s nipple, eliciting a whisper of whimpers from his lover’s mouth.

“Eric?”

He paused, his lips brushing against the dark skin below his nipple, and looked up at Dele intently.

“I want to,”

Those three words may have implied a wide range of meanings but Eric knew exactly what Dele was referring to. They had talked about anal sex a few times before but stopped short of taking it further every time. Dele claimed that he needed time and Eric agreed. It was obviously going to be an intimate, intensive and possibly painful experience, one they didn’t necessarily need to decide on while they were basked in their new romance.

“Are you sure?”

“It’s you, Eric. Only you,”

His words, as cryptic as they may have sounded, struck a chord in Eric’s heart. He felt revitalized by Dele’s words and continued kissing his love across any empty space on his body. Eric sat up on his knees and rolled down Dele’s boxers before diving back in to kiss Dele. For the first time, the smell that he had been associating with Dele for the past two and a half years felt his to absorb. Dele helped him take off his own shirt and shorts, setting free his erection. Eric giggled for a second and extended his arm towards the bedside table to grab a condom out of his wallet. Dele’s hand brushed against his lip as he rolled up the condom on Eric. Eric twisted open the bottle of lotion that he decided to substitute as lube. Before slicking his hands in it, he cast one glance at Dele, seething beneath his body, his legs bent on either side of Eric. He placed his hand against Dele and stared him down. There and then, he felt an overwhelming connection between not only their bodies but their souls and in that moment, Eric knew that whatever he was doing, he was doing out of his own instincts and feelings. He felt real, he felt right and he felt like he must have done okay in his life if he was fortunate to have Dele like this.

 

_Even though it was a chilly February morning, he felt the exhilaration burning his skin within. Pochettino had left him under the supervision of his assistant coaches, someone who did not seem too interested in showing Dele but did his job as a duty anyways. The gym, the cafeteria, the dining hall, the physio room, the changing rooms, the swimming pool were all demonstratively orderly yet when he came upon the boys training on the pitch, Dele’s words dried up in his mouth. This is what he had imagined._

_Once they were done with ten minutes of training, including drills, stretches, exercises and short games, the boys strolled over to the sidelines to greet the new signing. A lot of names flooded his brain, some he knew, some he worshipped, some he respected but most of them just passing through his brain at the minute. The boys shook his hand, made some introductions and promised to catch up further in the coming weeks._

_But one boy hung around at the sidelines. He sucked on his water bottle and grinned at Dele. “You’re from Milton Keynes, is it?”_

_“Yes,” said Dele, somewhat taken aback by the suspiciously pointed question. “Is that a problem?”_

_“No, not at all. I’m guessing that means you’re a Liverpool fan,”_

_“Stevie G fan, precisely,” Dele corrected, eyeing the boy critically._

_The boy shrugged. “I’m guessing you love bottles?”_

_Dele crinkled his forehead, missing the inside joke the boy was trying to sneak into the conversation. “Not more than you do,” retorted Dele, commenting on the fact that the boy was still chewing on the cap of the water bottle he held in his hand._

_“We love bottles at Spurs here. We play some of the most beautiful football, Harry is the new Jesus around here, we hate Arsenal more than the Holocaust but,” he paused with a smile. “We also love bottles here,”_

_Dele laughed, missing the joke but seeing the humour with which it was presented. The boy took off his beanie and stumbled forward to shake hands with Dele. “Eric,” he said, his eyes piercing into Dele’s despite the scalding sunlight pouring in from all sides._

_“Dele,”_

_“I hear you’re quite the nutmegger, Dele Alli,”_

_“Not true. Must be a rumour,”_

 

Lying in each other’s arms, Dele realized that he was never going to be the same boy again. There was an inkling of sadness in their post-sex calm; Dele had lost a part of himself to Eric, a part he was never going to be able to regain, a part that was forever going to remain within Eric’s possession, a part he was as nervous to give away as he was in keeping it.

Eric wrapped his arms around Dele and rested his chin on his head. He pulled over the blanket over both their bodies. They were sleepy but not willing to sleep just yet. The lights were turned on, as per Dele’s request. He wished to see Eric, his entire face and body, throughout the night. Dele had begun crying at one point during sex and Eric offered to stop but Dele persisted. He persisted because it was Eric. He persisted because what he felt with Eric, despite the pain and the uneasiness, was miles above what he previously felt as an ordinary human being. He had not only been catapulted to another level of consciousness that only love could afford but had reached an understanding with Eric that could only be built through their prolonged connection through pain, hardship and physical union.

“What are you thinking about?” asked Eric, raking his fingers through Dele’s curls.

Dele fiddled with Eric’s hands, chuckling. “Everything, really,” he answered. “I’m thinking about all those young boys who are probably crying themselves to sleep because they long to feel loved by other boys,”

“Dele...”

“They probably don’t know if they will ever feel loved. They don’t know if their dad will ever come back. Will their Mum ever stop drinking? Will their siblings ever stop beating them? Will they be homeless? Will they be abandoned by their Mum at the age of thirteen?” Dele smiled up at Eric soberly. “They will never know how valued they could feel years later, when their hard work pays off and they find the right person. When they win trophies and are able to kiss another boy for the first time,”

Eric kissed Dele.

“They don’t realize that they could end up being the luckiest man in the whole entire world. They don’t know that not only will they feel loved but that they will be able to love themselves. It’s an incredible thing, Dier. Incredible,”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, folks. I've written a wedding fic for the two, which is a continuation of this. You can find it in my Works. I'm also open to writing more Deledier fics, so if you have a prompt or would like me to focus on a particular aspect or just have general advice, find me on tumblr: http://sodetectivegalaxy.tumblr I'd love to talk about more football!


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